


SPEED Bar and Grill

by buddenbrooks



Category: Block B, Speed (Kpop), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Drinking, Gen, Smoking, Swearing, gay angst, stoners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 86,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddenbrooks/pseuds/buddenbrooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Restaurant AU in which SPEED, Block B and BTS work together and many shenanigans are had. All cross-posted from Tumblr.</p><p>Warnings for swearing, drinking, sexual innunendo and other things people in their early twenties typically get up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Staff List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full staff list, for anyone confused about who works where.

In real life all these guys would be unquestionably fired.

Management:

Yuwhan: Manager, fixer, sticker up of motivational posters which inevitably get moustaches and foul comments scrawled on them. Relentlessly cheery and always ready with a (terrible) joke. Nicknames include ‘daddy Kim’ and ‘the sexy manager’; when he arrives in his very tight cycling shorts no one can look away. Special talents include schmoozing annoyed guests and calming the insatiable rage of the head waiter and chef. Possibly the actual Nicest Person Ever. Most likely to say: Come on guys, let’s rock this shift!

Jungwoo: Assistant manager, formerly waiter and host, he’s a little confused, not least from arguing with Taewoon over who has superiority over the other. His important duties include sending drunken staff emails and organising nights out; deals with hangovers like a boss and is the inventor of the famous ‘Hangover Kit’ which is kept in the office. Ever reliable and hard working but occasionally grouchy from a lack of sleep and because the younger members of staff tease him relentlessly. Most likely to say: Is it too early to start drinking?

Hosts:

Jaehyo: Host, occasionally moonlights as a waiter when they’re short although he much prefers his main role due to the much higher chance of talking with attractive women and the reduced possibility of him having a clumsy moment and dropping three plates all over a customer (which has happened no less than four times). Deals with reservations, which means all the special food orders come through him and everyone in the kitchen hates him, but he’s a master at smoothing things over with annoyed customers. Useless until he’s had at least three coffees, and well liked although everyone admits he’s frequently irritating as hell, Jaehyo is the self confessed staff gossip, who has dirt on literally everyone. Most likely to say: Did you hear what happened the other night?

Namjoon: Host in training. As clumsy and hopeless at physical tasks as Jaehyo but shares the talent of being inexplicably charming. Spends most of his time comparing high scores on video games with his mentor and digressing on the existential dilemma posed by their face-focused jobs, which most people find confusing because he seems to act pretty much the same outside of work. Has done wonders for the reputation of the hosts by being a genuinely decent person and buying doughnuts on the morning shifts, although he takes a little too much pleasure in watching other people mess up. Can occasionally be goaded into freestyle rap battles against Jiho or Kyung. Most likely to say: Do you ever wonder which face is really yours?

Waiters:

Taewoon: Head waiter, a torpedo-like presence and a massive pain in the behind. Perfectly balances a loose and carefree attitude with a ruthless drive to get shit done; he might seem good humoured but he rules over the wait staff with an iron fist. Talks too loudly and spends a lot of the shift smacking the younger waiters upside the head for disrespecting him. His greatest triumph was the time he sold ten bottles of champagne to a hen party and ended up taking two of them home. Relentlessly feuds with Taeil for no real reason. Most likely to say: Shut your mouth or I will sit on you. 

Jiho: Waiter and aspiring rapper. He thinks a good deal of himself but unfortunately has to work under his elder brother who keeps him well squashed when he gets out of line. Occasionally manages to make the best tips by rapping the menu to guests but equally often gets no tips because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Constantly in trouble for prioritising his hiphop image over the actual uniform requirements; constantly touching up on Kyung and making everyone nauseous. He’s often late because he was up the night before working on music; the management have learnt to tell the difference between this and a hangover. Most likely to say: Yo wassup, welcome to the SPEED Bar and Grill.

Kyung: Waiter, also an aspiring rapper. Flirts outrageously (and disgustingly) with everyone but somehow manages to make it charming. Unlike Jiho he’s smart enough to know how to stay on the good side of the management and consequently gets away with a lot of shit he really shouldn’t, like sneaking booze into the kitchen in return for food. Whines about the rota whatever it looks like and cannot be trusted on morning shifts by himself. His favourite work hobby is doing impressions of the other staff members when their back is turned and exchanging catty gossip with Yukwon over the bar. Most likely to say: Is it time for a break yet? I’m so hungry.

Jihoon: Moved from a dishwasher to a waiter on account of his adorable personality but he finds it all a little overwhelming and wishes he could go back. He has a lower opinion of himself than everyone else, possibly because he spent so much time being yelled at by Taeil but never heard all the positive things Taeil said about him behind his back. Does excellently with small groups of young people but tends to bomb with the older, moneyed types because they remind him of his parents’ friends - his father is the dude who owns the restaurant, although this is a secret only Yuhwan is party to. Endlessly good natured but often confused and a bit scared by the spats between his fellow waiters. Most likely to say: I don’t know I’m still really new but I think everything on the menu is amazing.

Yoongi: Waiter, also aspires to music although he keeps it on the down low, not wishing to be drawn into impromptu rap battles. Balances being respectful and pleasant in front of customers with a thoroughly filthy mouth and a razor sharp tongue with the rest of the staff. Consistently derisive of the homoerotic antics of the rest of the wait staff, but only because he’s covering up a big old puppy crush on the pretty new chef. Drinks the most coffee out of everyone but still manages to look sleepy all the time, probably because he spends every other evening getting high with Yukwon. Most likely to say: Fucking really?

Jimin: Waiter, already storming the tipping leaderboard due to his adorable face, bouncy personality and remarkably succulent ass. A little naive and tends to get ragged to hell by the older boys but he takes it in good humour. Spends half his time being petted by Taewoon and the other half being hustled away from tables of pretty girls. Has a bad habit of getting totally trashed and being led into suggestive situations by certain bad influences. Has been warned several times not to dance when he’s carrying full plates but he never listens. Most likely to say: This shift is great, I’m having so much fun!

Bar:

Sejoon: Head bartender and he guards his kingdom watchfully, knowing the temptation it presents and the chaos that will ensue if anyone without the proper training gets into it. Generally a good guy who’ll do anything for you, but also a bit of a dogsbody who inevitably cleans up other people’s messes and can be passive aggressive about it. His team can be hard to control but he manages it with a subtle blend of patience, stern looks, and moderate levels of alcohol, and he can get a bit pompous when someone finally accords him the respect he deserves. Most likely to say: It’s fine, I’ll do it.

Jongkook: Bartender and devil. Known as Misfortune Kookie, he’s the one who shit incessantly goes wrong for: in one single and very memorable day he managed to get dumped, lose his wallet, fall off his bike and offend a customer so much he wrote a three page letter of complaint; the managers couldn’t even bring themselves to tell him off. Consequently he’s usually frustrated and a little bit bitchy. Fought his way up from barback to bartender and he’s a bit cocky about it. He’s the one who always gets his butt out when he’s drunk. Most likely to say: Man, fuck my life.

Yukwon: Bartender, dog owner, and in his mind the two things have equal priority. He’s frequently high but so good natured no one really says anything. Gets the most tips behind the bar because he’s sexy but the others don’t mind so much because he generally passes on the phone number he collects due to being happily committed to a girlfriend he never shuts up about. Has memorised the coffee preference of everyone working there, and how likely they are to come and get high with him. Friend to everyone even though he’s maybe the third or fourth worst gossip in the place. Most likely to say: My girlfriend…

Sungmin: Bartender who finally escaped the glasswasher and he’s never going back there. He’s not learning as much as he wants to but that’s partly because he’s still very twitchy and nervous and most attempts to teach him how to make cocktails have ended with broken glasses, ice and booze all over the floor and Sungmin almost crying with embarrassment. Occasionally tries to talk back to the older guys but they never take it seriously; nor do the younger staff members take his attempts at paternal supportiveness seriously. Threw up copiously the first time Taewoon and Jungwoo took him drinking and still hasn’t really lived it down. Most likely to say: Sorry! (following the sound of something breaking)

Hoseok: Bartender who blazed a trail to the top after only a few weeks as bar back. No one knows how he got so good at his job; Hoseok knows it’s because he pulled several all-nighters learning the recipes but he’d rather let everyone think he’s a natural. Relentlessly cheery and active behind the bar; communicates mostly in grunts on his breaks; hilariously catty in every day life. Enjoys getting drunk and confusing the hell out of straight dudes with his suggestive dancing. Unrepentant ass-slapper. Most likely to say: indecipherable high-pitched noises.

Jungkook: Bar back and baby of everyone, and boy does he hate it. Nothing on earth can stop him from trying to sneak on bar and getting under everyone’s feet while he attempts to do their jobs; Sejoon is at his wit’s end with him and considering trading him off to the kitchen, where Taeha has been teaching him how to decorate desserts. Outraged that he’s not allowed to make drinks yet and totally unaccepting of his status at the bottom of the staff hierarchy. The staff are divided between those who think he’s cute and fiesty, and those who thinks he needs to be sat on, and hard. Most likely to say: No, I got this!

Kitchen:

Taeil: Head chef, ball of sheer terror and fury. No one knows why he’s so angry - they assume it’s a chef thing - but it’s alternately hilarious and scary. His skill with the grill is unparalleled but like fuck would anyone go near him while he’s chopping meat. In his spare time he’s rumoured to be a fairly sedate man with a lot of pets, but some still believe he’s secretly a mob boss. Drives a motorbike to work and has his own special set of steak knives he brings with him every day. No one else is allowed to touch them, and it is well known he would most dearly like to apply them to Taewoon’s sensitive organs. Most likely to say: Anything with a Shakespearean level of filthy swearing.

Minhyuk: Second in command in the kitchen; a soothing presence who gets very zen when he stirs things and helps to soothe the nerves of younger staff members driven to tears by Taeil. It is said that he can calm Taeil’s rage by bending down to the lower shelves but really no one could possibly say why. A dry wit who’s most popular with the floor staff because he’s usually the one to make the staff food. Notoriously comes out of his shell in the most hilarious way when drunk. Owner of a vast blackmail file, so no one will ever get on his bad side. Most likely to say: Are you sure you don’t want another side?

Taeha: A self-hating chef; he originally was employed as floor staff but due to his quiet manner and what Taewoon refers to as ‘permanent bitch face’ he was asked if he wouldn’t prefer it in the kitchen. It’s been a good move and he’s turned out to be a dab hand at producing the prettiest desserts but he doesn’t like the hairnets or the heat. Grudgingly puts up with the older staff members constantly cooing over him but despite his cute face he’s not intimidated by anyone. On week nights he can usually be found in grotty toilet cubicles in gross dive bars. Most likely to say: Nothing in particular, but always with an expression of vague contempt.

Seokjin: Chef, mostly in charge of cooking meat. Spent a while being terrified that Taeil was going to burn his face until he realised the anger is mostly a front, and now stands his ground well and is even producing a mellowing effect on the tense kitchen atmosphere. Utterly ignorant of the girls who try to talk to him when he takes out the rubbish and the other staff members who hang around the kitchen trying to ogle him. Firmly believes that food will cook better if you coax it along with words. Most likely to say: You’re going to be such a tasty little steak!

Taehyung: Dishwasher and lowliest member of staff but he’s barely conscious of it. Spends his time outside of work attending illegal raves and is usually either still buzzed or on a comedown. Everything seems to roll off him, from Taeil’s rage to the wait staff’s innuendo, although that’s often because he’s got his earphones plugged in. Despite his spaciness he’s good at his job, aside from a tendency to fall asleep in the store rooms. Most likely to say: ….What?


	2. Need A Ride?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which angry head chef Taeil is unwillingly kind.

The clock is ticking towards half one in the morning. Nearly everyone has left the building, except for Yuhwan, still sighing over his calculator as he figures the tills out, and the two remaining members of the kitchen staff. Jihoon shuts the door of the dry store room, tucking his phone into his back pocket and trying to bite back his concern. He obviously doesn't do a great job of it, because as soon as Taeil glances back over his shoulder his own eyebrows furrow.

"You still here?" He turns back to the grill he's been scrubbing for nearly twenty minutes now, muttering something under his breath about useless pretty boys who don't know how to clean up after themselves, but Jihoon's mostly sure it's an excuse. He would never have let the other chefs leave if the place wasn't already spotless. And this is cheering, in a way, because with the lights turned off and everyone gone, the restaurant has become a dead, shadowy place. The corners of the gleaming counters wink at him under florescent lighting and the dark entrance to the corridor which leads to the main room is just a wavering blank space. He shivers and tries his best to switch on a smile.

"I was just tidying up in there. My ride's a bit late."

Like he's only just noticed the time, Taeil jerks his head back again to glower suspiciously at his younger colleague. "A bit late? We closed half an hour ago. You're usually fleeing the place by now." He flicks soap bubbles off his fingers impatiently. Jihoon realises he's waiting to be told the truth, and winces with embarrassment.

"I - I actually won't have a ride tonight, is the thing. My - the car's broken down, so they can't make it and - I guess I forgot so I didn't write down any taxi numbers, I mean, I could look one up but I don't have any cash on me and - "

"So I guess you're gonna have to sleep in the store room tonight," Taeil cuts over him. Jihoon falls silent, shifting in place. It's bad enough that he's still young enough for his parents to have to pick him up from work, without the head chef watching him admit it with a perfectly level gaze.

"I guess."

"Idiot." Taeil drops his scouring pad and turns on his heel to the blue paper dispenser, tearing off a length to dry his hands. "You can't sleep here, it's against health and safety. Isn't there a bus?"

"I live on the other side of town - I guess I could walk it, it'd only be...a couple of hours..." Jihoon thinks of the freezing weather, the pelting rain outside that made their evening so quiet, and worst of all the darkness of the streets, and even in the shining, warm little kitchen he shivers again.

The bin clunks as Taeil punts his ball of damp paper into it; he pulls off his chef cap and starts unbuttoning the white jacket, shaking his head and sighing. "You'll freeze. Don't be so stupid." Then, with his tone suggesting the words are causing him an immense amount of pain: "You can stay at mine for the night."

Jihoon's system is trapped somewhere between a leap for joy and a shudder of hideous awkwardness. "I - no, it's okay, I don't want to be a pain - "

"Oh shut up," Taeil snaps, and stalks off for the staffroom, only pausing to roll his eyes until Jihoon follows. "I'm technically in charge of you right now, I'm not getting blamed for letting you wander off and get yourself killed somewhere."

As frightened as he is, and as heavy as Jiho and Kyung's gossip about Taeil being an actual mob boss weighs in his mind, Jihoon can hear the wind howling outside the windows of the changing rooms, and the rain splattering the building, and he can't bring himself to refuse. That, and Taeil's expression suggests that a refusal will not be tolerated. He sighs a sigh of part-relief, part-resignation. "Sure. Thank you - really, I - "

"Call your fucking parents, alright, I'm not getting arrested for abduction because of your idiot ass." Jihoon nods, fumbling out his phone to hide a smile, just as Taeil pulls up the big hood of his coat to hide his own.


	3. Fun With Tickets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a quiet day, and Park Kyung is an asshole.
> 
> Inspired by this function on the tills at work: you can send modifiers on drinks for any table - you know like a “Vodka and Soda Mixer” which comes through with “FRESH LIME” added - and sometimes when the waiters get bored they send through tap waters, which cost nothing so don’t affect stock, and write stupid shit in the modifier either on the staff tab or on their own or someone else’s log in.

It’s a very quiet morning one day at the SPEED Bar and Grill and Sejoon is showing their newest barboy Sungmin around a bit more, showing him really interesting things like how to clean behind the glass washer and right underneath the stations in the vain hope that he won’t have to do it by himself any more, and Sungmin is like vaguely paying attention but mostly thinking about what time Taeha’s going to be in later and if he can volunteer to take down the coffees for the kitchen staff for the fourth day running without Jongkook making obscene suggestions about what they might be getting up to in the store rooms - when the familiar clicking noise sounds for the first time that day.

Just to get away from the scouring pad Sejoon’s wielding alarmingly like a weapon Sungmin trips over himself to get to the ticket only to be massively disappointed when it turns out to be an order for tap water, put through by Jiho to open up the staff tab for the morning. He screws it up, throws it to the floor - quickly scooping it up again when Sejoon sighs and says, “The bin is literally right next to you,” - and then another ticket appears.

This one is also for a tap water but underneath it says, “ACTUALLY JIZZ.”

Sungmin stares at it, glances up at the floor - apparently deserted - and looks down again at the ticket. While he’s pondering it another one pops up. This one says: “LITERALLY A BIG GLASS OF CUM PLS XXX”

By this time Sejoon has got up from his hands and knees and comes over to see what it is that his young employee is staring at wih such confusion. He looks over the tickets, rolls his eyes.

"Why are they ordering - uh - " Sungmin says, looking up at the older guy for some kind of guidance.

"The waiters must be really bored today," Sejoon sighs, as another ticket appears, this one saying, "JIHO CANT GET ENOUGH HE’S SO THIRSTY." From the waiter’s station across the floor comes the muffled sound of giggling.

At this point the doors to the restaurant slam open and Jiho himself appears, panting and red-faced, hurrying across the floor already pulling on his white jacket. “Is there a manager about?” he calls to the bar, and grinds to a halt as soon as the bartenders shake their heads, sucking in several deep breaths. “Thank fuck, I overslept completely. Oh man, I need a coffee so bad.” He makes for the bar, buttoning up his jacket with one hand and trying to arrange his hair with the other, which obviously doesn’t go well.

"We thought you were already here," Sejoon says with a perfect poker face, and pushes the tickets across the bar while a sniggering Sungmin goes to make a start on his twentieth attempt at an Americano, hoping that this one will come out resembling actual coffee and not "shitty water" as Jongkook so delightfully described his previous other nineteen attempts. Jiho looks at the tickets, is about to say something when another one pops up, which he leans over the bar and swipes immediately, reading it out loud.

"I WAS LATE BECAUSE I WAS BUSY EATING MY BREAKFAST OF TWENTY BIG DICKS."

When Jiho looks up at the head bartender he’s folding his lips inwards in what is clearly a determined attempt to hold back laughter. Jiho scowls, heads off to the waiter’s station, and Sejoon beckons Sungmin over to listen to the resulting hooting laughter, followed swiftly by several sharp thuds, a loud whine and a few cusses before Jiho reappears with a face like thunder and heads down to the staff room to dump his stuff.

Seconds later Kyung scuttles over to the bar, pouting, and without asking drinks the coffee Jiho ordered, gagging slightly at the taste. “I wasn’t serious about wanting a glass of jizz.”

"Sungmin made it," Sejoon says warningly and Kyung plasters on a cheesy grin immediately and pats the new boy’s hand.

"It’s really great, honestly."

"I thought Yuwhan and Taewoon both told you to stop using each other’s numbers like that." Kyung just scoffs and waves his hand as if the orders of their manager and head waiter mean nothing to him, which is probably about right - neither of them are here, after all.

He finishes the coffee, covering up a wince with another falsely approving smile for Sungmin, who is now starting to think that scrubbing the floor with a single scouring pad might be far more suitable work for him - definitely easier than making decent coffee - and is about to hop off the bar stool when another ticket pops up.

"I didn’t see anyone come in," he says, while Sejoon tears off the ticket and immediately enters into convulsions of laughter. He drops it wordlessly onto the bar. This one has come, somehow, on Kyung’s own number, and below his name and an order for one tap water it says: "I AM A FILTHY SLUT AND MY ASS IS THE SIZE OF SEJOON’S FIST."

The war begins there and doesn’t end until lunch has finished and Taewoon, now on shift, has a chance to look back at the tickets from the morning. Jaehyo is furious when he’s talking to two very nice young ladies at the door only for them to back out very rapidly when Taewoon’s laughter thunders across the restaurant.


	4. First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time Sungmin made his first ever cocktail, featuring senpai Shin Jongkook.

It’s a quiet Monday evening; by nine p.m. business has slowed to a trickle and while the waiters are entertaining themselves playing “who would you rather out of these two guests” - a little less subtly than the managers would really appreciate - at the bar they’ve got plenty of time to chat. Or rather, for Jongkook to attempt to tell Sungmin about his football team’s latest amazing victory, while Sungmin haltingly but determinedly tries to work him around to what he really wants to talk about.

" - straight in the back of the net, and then the defender from the other team just dropped to his knees - "

"But you did, you did promise," and finally Jongkook sighs and gives up his mission to convert someone else on the staff to his favourite hobby. Sungmin looks at him all abashed and eager and he has to admit, after the long months of his own training it’s really very pleasant to have someone else looking at him like he knows better.

Which, actually, he does, and now’s his chance to prove it. “I still don’t see why you don’t just ask Sejoon,” he says, pretending for a little longer that he’s really too important and busy to be doing this sort of thing, even while he gets the coupe glass and the small shaker tin and lines them up on the bar top. “He made up half these drinks in the first place.”

Sungmin just twists his mouth to one side and goes a little red, and Jongkook rolls his eyes knowingly, pretending he was never in the slightest bit intimidated by the head bar man and his heavy eyebrows and unnerving skill. “You did say you’d teach me when you got a chance though,” Sungmin repeats, doing this cute beseeching thing with his eyebrows.

"I’m going to, aren’t I? Stop standing there and get in front of the bar." He hides a smile to see the younger boy scramble to obey even while he tries to remind himself not to be too lofty about this. Not just because he actually does like the kid and it’s nice to have a chance to help him out, but he knows if Taewoon spotted him he’d laugh his ass off. "Okay, I’ll teach you the first cocktail I learnt, which is really easy. It’s called a gimlet and it’s just gin and lime juice, or you can do soju instead of gin but then it’s best to add a bit of tequila or rum or something because soju’s not as strong - " He pauses there because Sungmin looks like he’s struggling to take this all on board, bites back a laugh and points to the jigger lying on the bar top. "So get your measure and chill down your glass first like Sejoon always bangs on about."

Jongkook thinks it’ll probably go okay when for the first time Sungmin manages to fill his glass with crushed ice without the ice going on the bar top or the glass going on the floor.

He walks him through it step by step and at the end, as the last few drops of the drink trickle out of the strainer and into the glass, he takes a moment to congratulate himself. He never thought he’d be much of a teacher but Sungmin looks overjoyed with himself, and he has to feign a self-effacement he doesn’t really feel as the younger boy thanks him.

"Ahh, it’s okay, really, anything I can do to help - so let’s give it a taste." He gets a straw, dabs it in the drink and tastes, and immediately starts pretend-retching into the ice wells.

"Is it really that bad?" Sungmin’s panicking instantly and Jongkook straightens up, snickering.

"Nah, it’s okay, tastes a bit weak and there might have been too much lime in it - you need to work on your shaking too, you see how it’s a bit clear and there’s little bits of crushed ice in there? That’s cause you shook too hard and too long, so it’s watered down too much - "

"Is that going spare?" They look up from their intense analysis of Sungmin’s first ever successful cocktail to see Kyung also peering into the glass. His eyebrows furrow down as he takes the stem gently between two fingers and swirls the liquid around. "It doesn’t look right somehow."

"Well, if you think you know better, come here and make it yourself," Jongkook snaps back. "Oh yeah, you can’t, cause you’re not a bartender.” He glances sideways at Sungmin and gives him a tiny wink. He’s part of the team now.


	5. Staff Wanted

It's a rare occurrence, but there's not a single smile to be seen at the weekly managers' meeting. With half-closed eyes Sejoon's nodding off over his espresso; Taeil has his arms crossed, fuming, his fingers swatched with blue plasters from one too many evenings of chopping meat too fast and furiously. Taewoon's left foot is jerking irritably as he watches his younger brother dawdling by the waiter's station, his fingers twitching like he's dying to go over there and hurry him up with the back of his hand.

Yuhwan looks around the circle, glances at his assistant manager, and sighs heavily. Jungwoo's not looking, too busy picking crusts out of the corners of his eyes and trying to wake himself up with a few light slaps. "I know what you're all going to say," Yuhwan begins, and winces as everyone begins talking at once.

"Christmas was hell - sheer fucking hell, I cannot believe we had to open every single goddamn day, none of us have had an evening off in nearly a fucking month - "

"If you don't fucking say something to the cerebrally-mangled impulse-driven shit for brains giving these cock-led orders, then I sure as hell fucking will - "

"I really don't like to complain but it's getting ridiculous - Kookie's been sick a couple of days and we just don't have anyone to cover - "

"Guys." Jungwoo flashes up a warning glance as Yuhwan rubs at his temples, and the other three men fall into a disgruntled silence. They've got every right to be angry, of course, but the situation isn't one of their manager's making. The restaurant has been getting more customers every day as their fame spreads, and the busy Christmas period just solidified their reputation as a top quality joint. It isn't entirely a bad thing - they were all looking at a wage increase for certain, not to mention the simple pride in having built their success up like this. But the rush shows no signs of easing off, and their extended opening hours over Christmas had proved so popular that the owner is insistent it continue. 

Taewoon puts the problem succintly: "If we don't get some new staff soon, not only are we not opening every fucking day, we're not opening full stop because we'll all be fucking bed-ridden with chronic fatigue. And Jiho," he yells, "you better fucking have those sections set up by five or I'll kick your ass all the way home." Jiho replies with a rude gesture, speeding up his movements only marginally.

Letting out a long breath which blows his fringe upwards, Yuhwan flicks over a page of his notebook. "I know, I know. We've just not had the time to spare for trials, you guys understand that - but I've got a lot of emails and I've organised some for the next couple of weeks. Really, I promise I'll get this sorted - just be patient for little longer?" As frustrated and exhausted as everyone is, no one can continue to be angry when he turns that wide-eyed pleading look on them. Even Taeil is forced to grumble assent, picking at the ragged edge of a plaster.

"So we're gonna be opening every day now?"

"That's the plan. Ten to three in the morning, and then five to eleven or twelve, every evening." He flips through his notebook again, blinking hard to try to force his eyes to focus. "So Jungwoo's going to be dropping his waiter duties - I'm going to need him around a lot more as back up manager - so we'll get two or three more wait staff. New bartenders - how's Sungmin's training coming along?"

Sejoon glances over his shoulder to the bar, whereupon Yukwon and Sungmin both freeze guiltily in the middle of their game of 'who can throw the most lime wedges across the bar and into an ice bucket'. He gives them a weary look, but despite his team's innate aversion to cleaning, they're getting along excellently. "Really good, actually. I think he's more than ready to go on bar - we need more bar backs, really, two at least." Yuhwan makes a note in his book, managing a grin at Sejoon's affectionate frustration.

"And then in the kitchen - " He halts there as Taeil raises his hand, expression darkening.

"You stick me with some newbie asshole who doesn't know the right end of a ladle from his own cock and I will literally fucking poison everyone."

Yuhwan chokes on a guilty laugh as Jungwoo mysteriously becomes afflicted with a terrible cough which forces him to hide his face in his hands for a good minute. "Don't worry, I've got some CVs with a lot of experience, I'll find you someone...you know - "

"Who won't try to stir soup with his junk," Taewoon supplies. Despite Taeil's glare, the comic relief is highly welcome. "And what about the hosts?"

"Yeah, we really need more people standing around doing nothing." Sejoon has the grace to look a bit guilty after this comment, but no one can blame him - it's frustrating to watch someone standing examining their nails while they wait for their coffee when the bar staff are already rushed off their feet.

"No more hosts - we won't need one on the quieter evenings anyway, so I'll probably keep Jaehyo on the same sort of rota as he is now. Oh yes - " and Yuhwan closes his notebook with a sharp snap and smiles up at everyone, finally beginning to relax a bit. "And has everyone appointed a deputy? Because you won't all be working every evening, obviously, you need someone you trust to look after the rest of the team when you're not there."

Taeil just shrugs. The kitchen is unique in being composed almost entirely of emotionally mature and sensible employees, and whatever shit he might talk he'd trust any of them in his absence. "Minhyuk, nominally, but none of them would fuck around if I wasn't there anyway." The quirk in his lips as he looks to Taewoon is almost smug - Taewoon who is already dropping his head into his hands in despair.

"Man, fuck, I don't know - Jiho and Kyung are both assholes, you know that. Leave them by themselves and they'll just fucking run riot - "

"I heard that," Jiho's indignant tone shrieks from across the room.

"You're a useless tosser, Jiho," his brother yells back, but quickly reassures Yuhwan with a grin. He lowers his voice: "I'm only kidding, they're alright kids really. Wouldn't call either one a deputy, they'd get all fucking uppity about it, but I'd trust them to look after a trial shift or something." Yuhwan just holds back from rolling his eyes, but he knows Taewoon's a lot fonder of the younger waiters than he pretends to be, and they've never let him down on a busy evening.

"And Kwonnie on bar, obviously," Sejoon finishes. "I had a word with him about - you know, that incident, he said he was really sorry, he had an argument with his girlfriend. Trying to kill the pain."

"I'd really take it seriously," Jungwoo says, "but he's actually better on bar when he's high." His comment is perfectly punctuated by a shrill giggle from the bar as Yukwon beats his personal best for lime-tossing. "Just, Yuhwan, whoever you do hire - "

There's a resonant clash as Jiho drops a tray of cutlery and swears violently. In a wonderful synchronised moment, Sungmin knocks over the ice bucket as Yukwon tackles him with glee and twenty lime wedges cascade onto the bar floor. Jaehyo, arriving early for his evening shift, stands in the doorway and says, "Shit," more out of reflex than anything else. The managers collectively wince.

" - can you just try to get someone even vaguely normal?"


	6. Caffeine Makes The World Go Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jihoon discovers Yukwon's crazy memory for staff drinks.

Jihoon stumbles into work an hour early, bleary eyed from an all-nighter he pulled to finish a college paper. While he totally appreciates his father’s recommendation he gets a job - “even a part time one, even if it’s poorly paid, you need to find out now what it’s like to work for a living” - it couldn’t have come at a worse time. The restaurant was hiring in the first place because it’s getting busier and every night is hectic, and it also happens to be the part of term when all the final papers are due in. Jihoon knows a few other staff members are also studying as well as working, and he has no idea how they manage to go out apparently every single night they have free. He spent his last evening off sleeping from eight p.m. onwards only to wake up at three in the morning in a cold sweat, remembering he had an exam the next day.

He slumps on the tiny battered sofa in the staffroom, picking crust out of his eyes and fumbling out the tattered menu notes from his bag - Taeil’s been insisting he study up whenever he has time (which is never but he doesn’t dare say that to the volatile chef) so he can “make himself useful” sooner - and only when he shakes himself enough to focus properly does he realise he’s not alone in the staff room.

"Hi," Yukwon says, looking at him from across the room with faint amusement. "You okay?"

He’s still a bit intimidated by Yukwon. Everyone else has been so friendly - overbearingly so - but the bar staff spend so much time isolated in their own area that he hasn’t got to know them that well yet, and Yukwon in particular, with his permanent half lidded eyes and lazy smile, seems far too cool and good looking to ever be interested in talking to a gangly teenager like himself. He’s also a little bit wary ever since Jaehyo let slip that the lazy smile is partly a result of Yukwon smoking a lot of pot. With his father’s warning firmly in mind (“If I ever catch you around that stuff you’ll be out on your ear straight away) he smiles back tentatively, like he’s scared Yukwon’s about to whip out a spliff and light up there and then. “Bit tired,” he says. “Learning the menu,” and he indicates his bundle of notes.

"Ahh." Yukwon leans back again, returns to his phone, typing away frantically without seeming to move at all. "Head chef must like you."

"Huh?" This seems totally out of line with Jihoon’s own impressions. Even though he’s been assured by just about everyone that Taeil yells this much at everybody, including their unfailingly chipper and polite manager Yuwhan, he still can’t countenance the thought that someone who calls him a "useless waste of tile space" about three times per shift could like him.

"He’s got you learning the food already. Wouldn’t do that if he didn’t think you had some kind of potential. Sungmin used to wash dishes sometimes and he said Taeil once found him stirring something while Minhyuk nipped out for a smoke and nearly beat him away from the pot with a spoon. Like, how you fuck up stirring something I don’t know, but Taeil’s protective about his kitchen like that." Yukwon grins and flicks his hair out of his eyes, and for the first time Jihoon feels a little warmth coming from him. "Minnie’s so fucking glad to be out of there. You really saved his ass."

He thinks about this a little, and he can’t deny it bolsters his confidence somewhat, especially when he glances again to his notes and sees where Taeil’s made his own annotations in a compact hand dashed all over with angry exclamation points.

"Well, if you want a coffee just let me know," Yukwon says, dropping his chin back to his chest so he can resume gawking at his phone.

With this little spark of bravery rising in his chest, Jihoon sits up a bit more and leans in - someone told him something when he first started and he’s been wondering about it ever since. “Is it true you know every single one of the staff coffees?”

Yukwon sniggers, flicks his eyes up. “Who told you that? Yeah, I do - except yours, actually.”

"I don’t really drink coffee."

Jihoon is by now very used to the look of utter disbelief that this admission provokes. It’s the first time, however, that he’s considered making a few exceptions to this general rule.

"Maybe you just haven’t had good coffee. Everyone likes it differently - so like, Taewoon drinks these quadruple espresso shots, and I mean, he drinks them like a shot. Slams the glass down on the bar when he’s done - he might as well just eat the grounds, it’d probably be quicker than me making it. Sejoon likes his espresso as well but he’s at least civilized about it. Yuwhan and Taeha like lattes - Taeha likes his iced; Jaehyo and Jungwoo both have cappuchinos but Jaehyo has his without the chocolate cause he’s always on some stupid diet. Kookie doesn’t really drink coffee either, he just pounds the Red Bull but sometimes he’ll have a double shot or something. Jiho pretends he drinks plain black coffee cause he thinks it’s manly or something but he always puts sugar and milk in when he thinks I’m not looking, and Minhyukkie actually does drink black coffee because he actually is manly. Sungmin just has regular white coffee, he thinks he’s being a pain if he asks for anything else. And fucking Park Kyung likes these americanos with chocolate syrup and foam on top." Yukwon pauses for breath, grins up at an open-mouthed Jihoon. "The funny thing is, I don’t really drink coffee either - I prefer green tea, it’s less bitter and more caffeinated."

Jihoon feels a bit faint. How, he wonders, do they ever have enough coffee left for the customers - and is this the secret to being able to work a full evening shift, study and still have the energy left for drinking? As if he’s read his mind Yukwon nods as he gets to his feet and gestures at the open door that leads back to the restaurant. “They’ll be downing it tonight. There’s some gig everyone’s going to after work, I think Jiho might even be performing - you could come, if you wanted?”

Jihoon thinks of his final paper, lying half-finished on his desk, and regretfully shakes his head. “Maybe some other time.”

"Cool. Gotta get back - you hit me up for a request if you change your mind, yeah?"

"Thanks." He smiles as Yukwon leaves, and then one last thing occurs to him. "Oh - you missed out Taeil."

Yukwon pauses in the doorway and a tiny confused frown crosses his face. “You know - actually, I’m not sure he drinks coffee either.” And he flashes a smile which is startlingly wide and disarmingly friendly. “Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry.”

He disappears, and Jihoon tries to quell the shaking in his hands for long enough to find the front page of his notes.


	7. Birthdays Are Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "it's someone's birthday and taeha has been bullied (most likely by taewoon) into making the cake for the staff party. before now, no one had any idea cake could be so passive-aggressive."

"You’ll do it then?" Taewoon says and Taeha rolls his eyes so hard they nearly fall in the soup he’s stirring because he knows he’ll do it - not because Taewoon’s asking him to, or because he really gives a shit about Sungmin’s birthday (the kid only just arrived and he got the fuck out of the kitchen as soon as a chance presented itself and really, Taeha doesn’t appreciate that kind of shade) but just because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll be known as ‘that guy who refused to make the birthday cake’. And Taewoon will tell everyone that he just said no because he’s an asshole and Sungmin will get all mopey and make that awful face he always made when Taeil yelled at him for not being able to find the spices quickly enough - the one that says plainly that he knows he’s not up to everyone else’s standards - and then Yuwhan will get sad about the lack of staff solidarity and Taeha’s coffees will be shit for two weeks.

So he grits his teeth and starts mixing on the sixth of December and maybe he looks up a few recipes and maybe picks up a few ingredients on his way in to work but it’s not because he cares about the overgrown toddler who’s now busy breaking all the glasses at the bar. It’s just because he can’t be bothered to deal with the hassle of not doing it. Sometimes just doing shit is easier than arguing your way out of doing it.

The seventh of December is a Sunday, so they close early and Jungwoo goes out to buy beer (he’s not even working but any excuse to booze with the staff is good enough for him) and Sejoon debuts one of his new cocktails which he’s calling ‘Pain’ because it contains enough spirits to kill an elephant. Everyone gathers around the biggest table in the place, waiting for the special moment when the lights dim and Sungmin gets all startled and embarrassed because he hadn’t expected anyone to make this kind of a fuss. Taeha brings the cake up himself: glittering with candles, dripping with frosting, utterly ostentatious and hideously ugly. Sungmin’s favourite colours, from what he knows (he knows nothing, he doesn’t talk to him and he certainly never pays attention to what he’s wearing) are red and yellow, so that’s what he’s done for the cake. It’s ugly, and he’s sure everyone knows how ugly it is, but it’s a fucking cake and he knows it tastes good and damnit, this wasn’t in his job description anyway so it’ll have to be good enough.

It takes a moment, once the candles are blown out and everyone’s quit their irritating cheering, like a single breath is something to be celebrated, for them all to actually read what he’s piped in elaborate letters on the top of the cake. He’s quoted Taewoon, since nothing could better approximate why he went to this stupid effort in the first place. “It’s a birthday. It’s special.”


	8. Code: 420

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "that one time yukwon was SO OBVIOUSLY HIGH around customers and jaehyo has to do damage control on the fly."

Jaehyo watches in horror as Yukwon drifts up to the front door of the restaurant - whips his head around to glance at the bar - sees a helplessly apologetic looking Jongkook holding up his fingers in quick succession and mouthing: "420!"

420 is the bar code Jaehyo hates the most.

Thankfully Yukwon just about makes it across the floor without stumbling or knocking anyone over, blissfully ignorant of the funny jig he forces Jiho to do to stay out of his way. He pitches up at the host’s table without saying hello and just gazes off through the glass door, a glassy little smile on his face. He’s very content. He’s also very clearly blazed: he’s got that expression on where the corners of his slack mouth and reddened eyes seem to stretch right back to the edges of his face.

"Yukwon," Jaehyo hisses, accompanying the verbal warning with a hard prod in the ribs, but he has a horrible feeling he’s too far gone to respond, and besides, he can see a new party of guests approaching from the outside. He’s forced to stand straight, trying to elbow Yukwon off behind him and hope the customers don’t notice him.

Yukwon has other ideas. Clearly feeling far too much universal love in his smoky little haze, he waves at the group before Jaehyo can even recover his professional smile. “Hi,” he beams, as if they’re old friends he hasn’t seen in ages. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

It’s lucky he’s in his own world, really, because he doesn’t register or mind the baffled and somewhat revolted looks they return his greeting with. Jaehyo’s thoughts stumble over themselves for half a second of pure stomach-freezing panic before he manages to snap his host-smile back on, puts a hand on Yukwon’s shoulder and gives him a gentle shake.

"No, I told you, that’s not how we greet people," he says in a gently chiding tone. "Like this," and he turns back to the guests, forces himself to smile wider. "Good afternoon, welcome to the SPEED Bar and Grill!"

The tight looks begin to melt away, as Yukwon - clearly thinking this is some kind of amusing game - grins up at him and nods. “Yeah, yeah I get it hyung,” he says, and Jaehyo nearly collapses in relief.

"You can cover me here then, while I show our guests to a table," and he gestures the party away as quickly as he can, apologising with a casual explanation about training. By the time they sit down he’s managed to charm a laugh out of them, and he returns to find Yukwon happily absorbed in reading the list of bookings.

"Good afternoon," Yukwon says, "welcome to the SPEED Bar and Grill!"

Jaehyo rubs his temples and sends a message to Minhyuk in the kitchen: “420 come deal I’m going to have a heart attack.”


	9. Code Four(ce)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "taewoon's arm wrestling reign of terror finally comes to an end. bonus for shocking reveal of taeil's badass ink."

Jihoon comes back to the kicthen looking mostly traumatised but a little bit confused as well. He goes straight to the big pot of stew and begins to fill a bowl.

"What the hell are you doing?" Taeil snaps over his shoulder. He’s got one eye on the grill, one on the things bubbling away on the hob and another on the meat he’s chopping and luckily for Jihoon he doesn’t have the spare attention or hands needed to smack him away. Still, Jihoon finishing scooping up the food as quickly as possible and backs away from the pot, raising both hands.

"It’s for Taewoon-hyung," he says defensively, and Taeil makes a disgusted noise, slamming his cleaver frighteningly hard into a piece of pork.

"Staff food is at three, if he wants something now he can come beg me for it himself."

"He said to tell you it was a code four?" Jihoon bites into his lip, staying a careful distance until Taeil finally puts down the sharp object. When he turns round the younger boy is rubbing at his upper arm, awkward and a bit ashamed of himself. "I didn’t know he was that strong."

Taeil watches him for another couple of seconds, shuffling on the spot and clearly anticipating a the verbal lashing, before he lets out another long groan of frustration and turns back to his work. “You are so green,” he mutters. The kid’s been caught out by Taewoon’s favourite trick; he can’t really blame him for that. Jihoon takes the food and flees the kitchen thankfully while Taeil continues to hack away at the meat in front of him, thinking that maybe it’s about time someone beat their obnoxious asshole of a head waiter at his own stupid, infantile game.

"Minhyuk," he says when his fellow chef arrives for the evening shift. "Is Taewoon closing tonight?"

Minhyuk’s used to such questions in place of a conventional greeting; he just says, “Yeah,” as he ties on his apron. Then he stops, eyes Taeil suspiciously. “Why do you care? Don’t put any shit in his food again, okay, you know how depressed Yuwhan gets when - “

"I’m not going to," Taeil says. He grits his teeth hard. Minhyuk shrugs and gets to work.

When the shift is finally over and the kitchen is gleamingly clean, they head over to the big table for the end of night beers. It’s been a good one and everyone’s in high spirits; Taewoon even waves as they approach, grinning. “Cheers for the stew, cheffie!”

Taeil doesn’t look at him, calmly unbuttoning his white jacket. “I heard that was a code four,” he says. Jihoon flushes; Yuwhan puts his head in his hands as Taewoon flexes his arms.

"These guns have hit every target in this place."

It’s such a hideously stupid thing to say that any thoughts of diplomacy shoot straight out of Taeil’s head. He strips off his chef’s jacket, chucks it on the table and ignores the resounding noise of awe at the sight of his large and impressively tattooed biceps.

"So that’s what he’s keeping under there," he hears Kyung whisper to Jiho. Taewoon’s still grinning but there’s a little hint of uncertainty crossing his arrogant expression, and that’s enough to assure Taeil of his victory.

"If I can beat you, you’re going to stop this ‘code four’ bullshit. Or at least keep it the fuck out of my kitchen." He rolls his shoulders back and stares Taewoon dead in the eyes, even as the other approaches, stretching himself up to his full height - a foot above Taeil, forcing him to tip back his head but he doesn’t flinch for a second.

"Deal." With everyone around the table paying very close attention, they shake on it, and Taeil can already hear Kyung, in a low voice, collecting bets on the outcome.

They set themselves up, one on each side of the table; the waiters, of course, gather around Taewoon, hunching forward and muttering encouragement which he brushes off like he doesn’t need it, but Taeil knows better - the kitchen staff don’t even bother to say anything, they just stand there smirking. The guys from the bar, half-drunk already, lean back in their seats for the show.

"Don’t embarrass us hyung," Jiho says as his brother flexes out his fingers and prepares.

"This tiny asshole?" Taewoon scoffs. "Watch and learn, kids."

A smile pulls at Taeil’s mouth and he glances over to Jihoon, hovering at the edge of the group, clearly very aware of having been the catalyst of this incident. “Jihoon,” he says gently. “Can you grab me a plate? I need something to serve Taewoon’s ass to him on.”

The head waiter loses all trace of humour from his expression at that moment. He leans forward on the table, offering his hand.

One minute and ten seconds later Taeil sits back, absorbs the promises of endless free drinks and the congratulatory claps on the back, and revels in the sight of a thoroughly defeated Taewoon.


	10. Flammable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "in a moment of weakness, taeil gives in to jihoon's begging to let him attempt actual cooking. jihoon promptly sets the kitchen on fire."

"Hyung, I’m done preparing," Jihoon says, stepping back from the cleaned, peeled and stripped down squid with a faint look of disgust and going to wash his hands. Taeil cranes his head just enough to take a look - he’s been in this job for long enough to tell by a single look whether things are done to his standards. Keeping one hand steadily stirring the soup, he reaches with the other to turn on the grill and jerks his head in a nod.

"Looks good. Over here, please. And the sauce." Deftly he uncaps the oil and recoats the grill pan, all one-handedly and for once, nothing gets in his way and nothing is out of place, and he sighs with pleasure. It’s been a gentle, peaceful afternoon; for once they are fully prepared for the evening rush, and Taeil almost feels content. It’s not often that this job stops being so stressful and he gets a few minutes to enjoy the simple zen that the process of cooking brings.

Turning his head again he can see Jihoon hovering at his elbow, watching with awe his easy multi-tasking. The afternoon wouldn’t have been half so pleasant, he has to admit, without the newest member of staff. If it had still been Sungmin, sulking and grumbling about the heat and taking every opportunity possible to skip upstairs and gab with the bartenders, he’d be at the end of his rope by now. But Jihoon seems to really want to be there; he’s genuinely interested, enthused by the kitchen work, even if he gets the worst end of it a lot of the time, and Taeil - although he’d cut his nose off with his steak knife sooner than admit it - is starting to become a little fond of him. As ruthless and angry as he could be when things weren’t going right, he does this job because he loves cooking, and being able to teach someone else makes it all just a little more interesting. And someone with such enthusiasm as well - he’d taught Taeha a lot, but Taeha was hardly the last word in passion. Jihoon watches with baited breath, a kind of amazement, as if he’s witnessing magic, and Taeil would be lying if he said he didn’t find it somewhat gratifying.

He checks the heat on the grill, turns down the soup to a low simmer and holds out one hand for the bowl of sticky red sauce. When he tastes it a smile of approval almost breaks out and it’s enough to have Jihoon bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Is it good?”

"It’s not bad at all. You’re getting the hang of this." The way the kid’s eyes glisten, you’d think it was the first piece of praise he’d ever recieved. Taeil turns back to the grill to hide his smile, rolling his eyes.

"So - so do you think, maybe - maybe I could cook it as well?" It’s phrased like an off hand comment, but the strain in Jihoon’s voice makes it fairly obvious he’s been working up to this for a while. Any other time Taeil would say no immediately, but it’s been a good day, and in part because Jihoon has been working hard and doing everything he asked, and to a good standard, and he’s been quizzing him relentlessly about the recipes, and he’s got them nearly all down.

Taeil checks over the stripped down squid - it’s more or less perfect - and his shoulders relax just a little. Oh, he thinks, what the hell. The kid’s got potential, after all. He won’t learn if he’s not given the chance.

Jihoon’s practically quivering with excitement as he lays the squid on the grill, spreads out the white body carefully like Taeil’s shown him. Taeil steps back, folding his arms across his chest and watching.

He’s not really sure how it happens; all he knows is that thirty seconds later the pan is overturned, a rush of oil meets the hob and sends a long tongue of fire shooting up to the ceiling of the kitchen and the smoke alarm begins to scream - as does Jihoon.

Three damp tea towels, one fire blanket and a hundred apologies later Taeil sends Jihoon outside to calm down, begins to clean the floor and curses whatever stupid fucking nonsense Minhyuk had been chatting to make him think that kid was anything more than a giant fucking nuisance. Minhyuk arrives, hears the story and laughs, and Taeil seethes gently for the rest of the evening, especially when Minhyuk reminds him of the first job he ever had and how he managed to turn three litres of stew into a solid block.


	11. Brotherly Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Woo brothers shenanigans with Park Fucking Kyung (totally not) helping. Possibly featuring Jungwoo or Yuhwan as the only ones who can hold back Taewoon when he gets heated."

The argument starts at closing time, thankfully just as the last guests are leaving. Yuwhan covers a wince with a smile, ushering them out of the door as the first raised voice echoes across the empty floor.

"Don’t fucking yell at me, just cause you’re my brother, you don’t get to tell me how to behave!"

The door swings shut. Yuwhan sighs, grits his teeth, and hurries to the waiter’s station, joined by Jungwoo stumbling out of the office moments later. “Think we have a code 212 on our hands,” he says in a low voice, and Yuwhan nods with an unhappy twist in his mouth. His heart drops as soon as he sees the two waiters, facing each other down with fury evident in every line of their posture: Taewoon, using every extra inch of his physical power, already with one fist clenched, and Jiho, half-turned away, polishing glasses with white knuckles bunched in the cloth.

"It’s got nothing to do with being your brother, asshole, I happen to be head waiter here - as I apparently have to remind you every fucking shift we work together - and I’m in charge!"

"And don’t you just fucking love that," Jiho spits. Taewoon slaps his hand down on the countertop, letting out a harsh laugh.

"Oh yeah, I bet you could do a much better job - you could run this floor with your eyes closed, right?"

"I wouldn’t fucking yell at people for something which isn’t even a big deal!" Jiho slams a glass down on the surface so hard the stem snaps, draws his hand back hissing as a bead of blood wells up on one finger. "Look what you made me do, asshole," and he turns his back pointedly. With a lunge forward Taewoon grabs his shoulder, forces him to turn back and Yuwhan and Jungwoo rush forward.

"Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you, you disrespectful little shit - "

"Kyung does this all the time and you never yell at him like this!"

Like the mention of his name has summoned him, Kyung pops up from behind the partition between two sections, a blue cleaning cloth in one hand and a bottle of sanitiser spray in the other, looking angelically unfaultable. “What, me? What did I do?” He ignores the warning look both of the managers shoot him and looks between the brothers, apparently innocent but with that evil expression in his eyes that means he wants to watch this fight and bet on the outcome.

"Hey, guys," Yuwhan attempts, stepping forward with his hands raised. "What’s the problem? We can talk it over reasonably, I’m sure."

"I can deal with this," Taewoon says, not looking at the manager but still - murderously - at his younger brother, who’s licking blood from his bleeding finger with narrowed eyes. "Jiho just thinks it’s more important chatting to some girls than cleaning down his section, or closing up tabs, or - you know, doing his fucking job like he’s being paid to!" His voice raises as he speaks, leaving Yuwhan flinching and Jiho bristling.

"I got all my tabs closed," Kyung says, "You can do that and still talk - "

"Shut up, Kyung," Jungwoo growls, and Jiho’s already yelling over him.

"It’s not like I was just hanging around to talk, they were the ones who kept asking me stuff - they were talking about the menu, okay, I was doing my job, it’s my job to get people interested in coming back, isn’t it?" He assumes that air of injured pride which is calculated to make Taewoon totally lose it, and it succeeds as well as it has every other time he’s done it.

"Maybe next time you should get Taewoon-hyung over to talk to them while you clean tables," Kyung adds in, maliciously fast, and with a quick glance of despair to one another the managers move forward, each stepping in front of one of the young waiters, Yuwhan catching Taewoon’s wrist as he steps forward with every intention of separating their heads from their shoulders.

"Arrogant lazy no-good fucking work-shy little - " The obscenities continue to spew out as Yuwhan gently but forcefully directs Taewoon towards the back exit and into the cold night air, and Jungwoo elbows hard into Kyung’s ribcage and tells them both to get back to cleaning.

"And you’d better be finished by the time Taewoon gets back, or I’ll have you both off staff drinks for a week," he threatens, and that’s enough to make them both hop to it.

Outside Yuwhan stands and smokes as Taewoon gradually winds down his rant into a monotone grumble. He sighs, shakes his head and looks over at the head waiter with knitted eyebrows.

"If you two find it so hard to work together, why did you even ask him to try out here in the first place?" Taewoon has the decency then to look sort of ashamed of himself.

"Ah, you know I’m sorry for causing you trouble. It’s just fucking frustrating, man, I know he’s better than this." Yuwhan raises one eyebrow and Taewoon looks away hastily, clearly irritated. "But I’ll fucking kill you if you tell him I said that."


	12. Destroy Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hoseok is a new bartender and Yukwon is a shady bitch.

It’s not that Yukwon doesn’t appreciate the new kid. He’s the first to admit, when Minhyuk asks how their new staff are getting on, that in practical terms Hoseok’s a god send. He picks up the drinks with ease and speed, always shows a smiling face to the customers; he’s quick and efficient and he cleans a lot, which makes things easier for everyone. There’s nothing especially offensive about the kid. He just wants to destroy him.

"I don’t get it," Minhyuk says, passing the blunt back with a flat look. "He’s great at work, and he takes the heat off you with the girls, right? Why are you being so weird?"

"He’s just - he’s…" Yukwon gives up trying to put it into words, just inhales and kicks at his friend’s ankle. "God, Minhyuk, why do you have to be so reasonable?" It’s twice as annoying because he can’t put his finger on what it is about Hoseok that gets under his skin so much. Maybe it’s the smile - Yukwon’s used to being the one with the mega-watt smile. Maybe it’s his undeniable dancing skills, no matter how irritating it can be to have someone constantly jigging around while you’re trying to work - especially if you’re normally the one jigging around yourself. Maybe it’s because the older members of staff have already made something of a pet of him, drawn by his peppiness and relentless good humour and yesterday, fucking Jaehyo even asked if Hoseok could make his coffee instead, just ‘to see how good he is’ with an indulgent little smile at the new kid and -

Okay, Yukwon thinks to himself. He’s an honest man. What really drives him up the wall is how similar they are. There can only be one smile representative behind the bar; there can only be one dancing machine. And he’s determined it’s going to continue being him, however fucking cutely Hoseok draws cat faces in the top of the cappucinos.

The problem is that he seems to have come up against just as subtle and uncowable an opponent as he himself is. Kyung and Jiho got lucky with the additions to their team: it’s somewhat annoying how Jimin’s cleaning up on tips with his adorable face, but at least he’s still got the common decency to be a little breathlessly overawed by the older boys, and Yukwon knows they’re both loving lording it over him a little - and Yoongi just refuses to be drawn into any kind of rivalry. Why, he thinks, couldn’t Hoseok have stayed on the fucking wait staff and Yoongi have come behind the bar? They could have chilled out nicely together through the shifts, and Yoongi wouldn’t have to wait around once the floor was clear for Yukwon to finish cleaning the bar before they could go have their post-work spliff together.

No, Yuhwan just had to be all sensitive and fair and let Hoseok have a trial on the bar as well. And now Yukwon’s stuck with him, because as newly appointed deputy to their head bartender it’s his job, when Sejoon isn’t working, to look after the new bugs while Jongkook presides over the point bar.

He tries hard not to be petty, reasoning to himself that it’s a lot easier to make the complicated drinks himself and just have Hoseok fetching bottles and pouring glasses of wine - which he does, for three or so hours without once losing that cheery demeanour. He hops around like an excited little bird, chatting away to the waiters (Kyung smirks knowingly at Yukwon over the bar and Yukwon throws a bottle cap at his face) and when they have a rush he moves so quickly that he’s got the drinks and glasses ready on the bar almost before Yukwon can direct him, and still manages to be wriggling his hips in time to the music as he tucks himself back at Yukwon’s side.

Then, when it all dies away, Yukwon slips off for a quick cigarette (fingers twitching against his sides, feeling wound up and frustrated and it’s infuriating because everything went so smoothly that he should be pleased with himself for managing the shift so well) and comes back to find Hoseok happily mixing up three martinis.

"Feeling calmer now?" Hoseok says, playing that angelic smile at him, but Yukwon’s not going to be fooled by his own tactics. He can hear the bite in his tone. He saunters up to the bar, half-lidding his eyes critically and peering into one of the stirring tins.

"You’re sure you’re okay with these? You’re using quite a premium gin, it would be a shame to waste so much of it."

"It’s such a simple drink, Kwonnie-hyung!" He practically sings it as he scoops ice into the tin and sticks in a spoon, begins stirring with practised ease. Yukwon feels his biceps and shoulders tense.

"The simplest ones can be the easiest to get wrong. If you stir it too much, or - " He breaks off there intentionally to half-hold back a wince at the sound of the ice cracking. Then, sighing like he’s not going to interfere (they both know he’s going to interfere as much as possible) he steps round to Hoseok’s other side and picks up the two or three tickets that have come through since he stepped outside. "And you need to remember to pay attention to other tickets, even when you’re making something which needs concentration."

"I wouldn’t want to leave the tin, it might water it down and waste your ‘premium spirits’." The air-quotes are plain to hear even without illustratory gestures.

"A good bartender should be serving nine out of every ten men at the bar," Yukwon says - it’s a bit of pompous nonsense from a famous bartender that Sejoon likes to come out with occasionally, but there’s a kernel of wisdom in it, and he takes the opportunity, as Taewoon aproaches the bar looking a little grouchy, to make a graciously apologetic face at him and hold the little bundle of tickets up. "Sorry, I ran out for a cigarette. Everything’s on its way now." He passes over the beer bottles and soft drinks, makes a pass with his eyes at Hoseok, now carefully straining out the drinks. Taewoon just holds his gaze levelly and shakes his head.

"You’re such a bitch, Kwonnie," and he wrestles back a grin and heads off to his section.

There’s a little splash as Hoseok drops the lemon rind into each drink and steps back to survey his work. Without asking, Yukwon grabs a straw, dips, tastes and screws up his nose. “Too much dry vermouth,” he says. “It’s too bitter.”

Hoseok turns away, picks up the new tickets that have arrived and breezily passes a couple over without looking at Yukwon. “It’s not the only thing.”

Yukwon’s lucky Jongkook overheard that; he can turn his glare on him instead, throwing back the ice Jongkook just hurled at him in their standard bar code for, “you got burned.” He’s going to have to have a serious word with Sejoon about the rate at which be promotes barbacks to the bar, and how fucking cocky it makes them.


	13. Brawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "I just really need to have you here right now."

It’s funny, Yuhwan thinks, how problems breed new problems, like the rodent infestation in the alleyway outside the restaurant. Just one small, unnoticed, nasty little issue left running about and suddenly you’ve got a whole scurrying herd of filthy, vicious monsters spreading their germs everywhere. He lets his eyes defocus from the computer screen, disregarding for one moment the bundles of cash piled neatly in front of him, and even though there’s no possible way he could already know, he expects the phone to start shrieking at any minute, and the owner’s voice to bark from down the other end in that way that always has Yuhwan jumping to attention: “What did you allow to happen?”

"It wasn’t your fault."

He glances over to see Jungwoo standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest in a way that brooks no argument, with that empathetic but somewhat terse expression Yuhwan’s seen more times than he can count.

"Thanks," he replies, reaching his hand out for the coffee Jungwoo hands over and shifting his chair down to let the other man take a seat at his side.

"I knew you’d be beating yourself up. How is it your fault if someone gets sick?"

He can’t answer that - of course, it’s absolutely not his fault. It’s not even Sejoon’s fault, really; the poor guy’s been running on hope and good humour for the past three months and a collapse of some sort was inevitable. Yukwon had even offered - almost unheard of for him - to drop his plans with his girlfriend and cover, but Yuhwan knew he didn’t really want to, and everyone had been working so hard over Christmas he’s loathe to ask them to give up their precious days off. But the absent bar deputies meant Taewoon was working overtime trying to keep one eye on them and one on the floor, and as good as the bar team were, two of them were still very new, and that left Jiho and Kyung and Jimin all but alone on a very busy evening.

Which again, wouldn’t necessarily have been a bad thing if it hadn’t been a busy Friday night, and they hadn’t been assailed by what seemed like every suit-wearing douchebag this side of the river. Jaehyo had even come to him halfway through the evening to warn him, and he’d considered an early close then, but with Jungwoo and Taewoon around to back him up he didn’t think they’d have any real problems.

Now they’ve got a smashed window, a broken vase (that really nice one he’d spent so long searching the markets for, he’s really very upset about that) and a head waiter who could be facing assault charges, although who could really blame him? Yuhwan buries his nose into the steam from his coffee, appreciatively inhaling the whisky fumes.

"Every place has problems," Jungwoo says reasonably. "Every bar’s gonna have a brawl eventually. I’m frankly just amazed it was between the customers rather than the staff."

Yuhwan can’t help but laugh feebly at that, at least. “We were just - we were doing so well. And now this.”

"We’ll get the window fixed tomorrow. I’ll find a new vase. Taewoon’s not gonna get arrested, that dude was way too drunk to remember who threw him out, and anyway he started the fight, the law’s on our side on that issue." He rubs his hand over Yuhwan’s shoulder and somehow the briskness of the gesture kickstarts his heart into beating properly again. "Come on. Drink your coffee, get the tills counted and come have a drink. You know the boys’ll get upset if papa isn’t smiling."

Yuhwan can actually feel his spine straighten up as his resolve stiffens. “You’re right. I’m just a little - “

"Sensitive. I know." Shaking his head with a gentle laugh, Jungwoo gets to his feet. "I’m gonna go check the bar, Sejoonie will only get ill again if we let Kookie close it however he wants."

Yuhwan nods, then changes his mind and catches onto his friend’s sleeve just as he turns for the door. “Wait, just - ” He looks up, embarrassed but sincere all the same. “Just, stay here a little bit longer.”

His expression is deadpan as he reaches out and gently clips Yuhwan around the ear. “There are a bunch of idiots upstairs who need you around right now. Stop being a baby.” But he uses the same hand that pulls Yuhwan to his feet to yank him into a hug, and beats an encouraging rhythm between his shoulder blades.

"I think we need more door staff," Yuhwan mumbles into his shoulder.

"I think you need a shot of vodka."


	14. It's Teamwork, Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sejoon's not enjoying the morning shift until an unexpected display of team spirit from the bar staff.
> 
> For anyone unsure, the ‘point’ bar is where customers are served directly; the ‘dispense’ bar is where drinks are made and put out for waiters to deliver to tables and hence where most of the gossiping and catty banter happens.

It’s one thirty in the afternoon and Sejoon’s already done with the day.

Not that he’d ever show it, of course. The most anyone can ever read on his face is a faint twitch of the eyebrows, maybe a vague tightness about the mouth. To his fellow staff these are clear warning signs, but to the customers they’re easily overshadowed by his smile and warm voice. As he rings up the sale he flashes the two women at the bar a casual grin which has them both fluttering a little. He nods as he hands back their change. “Thanks very much, enjoy the coffee!”

"We always do," one of them says. She glances over her shoulder as they walk away, so Sejoon continues to smile while he grabs Yukwon by the wrist and discreetly but firmly tugs him away from the intense conversation he’s holding across the dispense bar with Jiho. As usual Yukwon takes a couple of seconds to adjust to standing in front of someone else, blinking slowly while Sejoon feels a tug of irritation in his stomach.

"What’s up captain?" Yukwon narrows his eyes, grinning that insufferable grin which means he knows exactly what’s up. "You seem tense."

"Yeah, not your usual chirpy self today," Hoseok says from the coffee machine, and Sejoon gives him a look to tell him to shut up.

"Just - just cover point for me for a few minutes. I’ve got to take a smoke break or I’m going to tip the next damn cheeky cha over someone’s head."

Such strong words are rare for Sejoon, so although Yukwon looks for a second like he might make a joke, he seals his lips with a virtuous look and steps aside to let him leave. “We’ve got your back, captain,” he calls, and Sejoon glances back gratefully before allowing the smile to plunge off his face. It’s such a relief he even sighs a little. His mouth hurts from smiling so much.

The plan of opening in the mornings has been going incredibly, he has to admit - even more so with their new menu of spiced up hot drinks, including the now-infamous ‘cheeky cha’, a strong tea with added booze, named for an endearing yet immensely irritating verbal quirk of some of the waiters. But novelty quickly wears off. It had been grating enough for Sejoon to hear, four times in the space of one hour, Kyung asking for a cheeky coffee or a cheeky shot. This morning the word is clattering around in his brain, inextricably linked with Kyung’s toothy grin and what seems like a thousand customers agonising over the relatively simple decision of what fancy drink they want before inevitably plumping for the same thing. Every. Fucking. Time.

"Can I get a cheeky cha?"

Sejoon wheels round as the door to the scrubby yard area bangs and just stops himself from punching Taewoon in the face with a lit cigarette. He shuts his eyes on the head waiter’s sniggering face. “Surely you’re bored of it yourself by now?”

"I’m bored of Hoseok over-filling the cups so I spill the shit everywhere, but I’ll never be bored of seeing cute girls with milk moustaches." He joins Sejoon, leaning against the grubby wall under the ventilator; from inside they can hear distant cursing from the kitchen, and they smoke in companionable silence for the five minutes they can spare, before heading back inside.

When they step back onto the floor Sejoon’s stomach drops abruptly, because if it was his desperate prayers which brought this scene of chaos into actuality then he’s never going to be able to give away enough free drinks to the rest of the staff to make up for it. The lights are all off, the music has died in the air, and at least thirty customers waiting at the bar or at their tables are starting to tap their feet and grumble while Kyung and Jimin batter helplessly at the screens of their tablets. Sejoon looks to the bar: Hoseok’s punching buttons on the coffee machine, presumably in the hope of making it do anything apart from drip dirty water, while Yukwon, front and centre of the customers, is holding up as best he can charming the fuck out of everyone waiting and gesticulating at the blank, black screen of the till.

Presumably drawn from the office by the sudden loss of internet connection and therefore his high scores, Jungwoo appears, with Taeha and Seokjin in their chef’s whites hot on his heels. He beckons the senior staff members over furiously. “Fucking power cut,” he explains, as if they hadn’t already figured it out. “Everything’s down - kitchen, coffee machine, tills - “

"My rice cakes," Taeha moans, and his fellow chef clutches his shoulder sympathetically. "They were so perfect."

Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, Sejoon flicks his eyes over to the bar, where his staff are ingeniously handing out complimentary milk drinks to replace the absent teas and coffees. But it can’t last long. “Know when it’ll be back on?”

"A couple of hours at least. We might as well shut until the evening." Jungwoo rubs a hand over his hair, regretfully looking over the room - previously full and now distinctly emptying out as busy business people on their lunch breaks get tired of waiting. "Taewoon, let the waiters know we’re going to have to comp just about everything - don’t worry about it, just make sure they get a record of what everyone had. The card machines are down as well, so we can’t take payments. Anyone who wants can have a free milkshake - Sejoon, write them all down as well, yeah?"

It’s not without a hint of pride, seeing the two waiters looking increasingly frantic and confused while, behind the bar, Yukwon and Hoseok continue to work cooly, without a hint of their usual catty rivalry, that Sejoon nods and returns to oversee his department. The crowd at the bar is already thinning. Both of them are whipping up the flavoured shakes as fast as they can, but typically find enough spare attention to flash him sparkling and somewhat malevolent smiles. He really can’t understand why the two don’t get on; they could be blood relatives for their similarities.

"Look at those dumb kids," Hoseok sniggers, nodding to the floor where Taewoon appears to be explaining to Jimin that they can still work out people’s bills with the ancient but ever reliable method of a pen and paper.

"Crisis moments, eh." Yukwon flips his hair out of his eyes as he pours one final drink, hips unconsciously popping into a dynamic stance. "Some people fall apart. Some people just take it in stride."

"Heroes of the dispense bar," Hoseok nods, and once they’re both done with their drinks they even make twin fists of victory, grinning back at Sejoon. Despite the frustration, despite his earlier irritation, he can’t help but be immensely cheered. "Come on captain, the glass washer’s down as well. Let’s do something about this mess."

There are dirty glasses stacked up almost all the way across the dispense bar where people are leaving their drinks and walking out. The three bartenders form a chain, with Hoseok washing, Yukwon rinsing and Sejoon drying, and even find themselves singing, not missing an opportunity to tease Kyung or Jimin when they appear to gloomily deposit another load of washing and mumble complaints about the service charge they’re losing. “You’ve got no metal,” Yukwon shakes his head at them.

Finally the bar is clean - not just the glasses, either: they clean the whole place until it’s sparkling, restock all the shelves while, with the customers utterly departed, the waiters slouch in the windows of the restaurant and play around with their phones. Then, and only then, do they head out for a smoke break, still chattering away. Sejoon looks between the two bartenders with something between pride and awe. Suddenly they’re getting on together like that nasty ego-crushing dance battle episode had never happened, and all it took was - as Yukwon puts it - a crisis moment.

"I’m really very proud of you both," he says suddenly, and his cheeks don’t hurt this time when a wide, warm smile springs to his face. "That was some awesome team spirit."

"We’ve got an awesome team, captain," Yukwon smiles, and Hoseok nudges him in the ribs.

"We’ve got an awesome team captain.”


	15. Bromance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Five times Taewoon and Jungwoo drunkenly made out, and one time they just did tequila body-shots instead."

1.

The incident will forever go down in history as ‘the Ugliest Shirt in the World.’

Jungwoo produces it with an unnatural amount of glee during the post-shift drinking binge one Friday night. He hadn’t worked that day, and spent the afternoon Christmas shopping in the markets. It was there, among second-hand denim jackets and trainers with questionable stains, that he found it: a frill-fronted, round-collared, pink paisley monstrosity which he presents to Jaehyo amind cackling laughter from the rest of the staff.

"I’m never going to wear this. Ever." Jaehyo holds the offensive garment at arm’s length with a wrinkled nose and eyes that express utter confusion about the triumph in Jungwoo’s grin. "Why would you even waste your money?"

Jungwoo cracks open his sixth beer and shrugs. “It was like, 5,000 won, it was worth it just to see the look on your face.”

"The day you and Woo Taewoon kiss with tongues is the day I wear this shirt in public," Jaehyo announces, and drops the thing to the floor like a microphone. Kyung almost topples off his stool in his haste to pick it up and stow it safely in his bag.

"This, I have to see."

Two weeks later at the staff Christmas party (one of the four they will end up holding) there is a remarkable display of team spirit as Sejoon lines up the shots, Kyung prods the head waiter towards the bar and Minhyuk lurks off to one side with his camera at the ready. Taewoon’s already sunk several pints and it only takes a few slams of tequila and the handy production of a sprig of mistletoe to have him puckering up.

"Christmas kisses for my best bro," he slurs, grabbing the front of Jungwoo’s shirt, and everyone simultaneously cheers and cringes as they make out shamelessly against the bar. Jaehyo sulks in the corner, nearly shoving Kyung off his feet when he sidles over to present him once more with the bundle of hideous pink paisley.

2.

Yuhwan’s tried to ban ‘gay chicken’ so many times but he’s never been too good at putting his foot down, and especially when the staff have had a few and tensions are running high, it’s almost impossible to prevent them from trying to psyche each other out in any way possible. Especially when he has a head waiter who likes to think he rules the floor entirely, and an assistant manager who moonlights as a waiter and isn’t too good at buckling under someone else’s authority. He knows something’s going to go wrong as soon as he steps out of the office to see Jungwoo and Taewoon squaring up with their faces an inch away from one another and the others bunched round heckling them on.

"Oh no," he says lamely, hurrying over and wincing as Taewoon shakes off the well-meaning grip Sejoon has on his shoulders and surges half an inch further forward. "Oh no, guys, you know this isn’t a good idea - "

"Shh," Yukwon hisses, looking all too involved in what’s going on, "this is a tense match." Yuhwan would love nothing more than to slap them both in the head so hard that their foreheads knock together, but they’re both quite a bit bigger than he is, and besides, at the moment they clearly only have eyes for each other.

"Gonna pull away bro? You scared?" Jungwoo’s taunting Taewoon, licking his teeth in his face, and Taewoon’s eyes are glinting like they do when he’s about to verbally rip one of his underlings to shreds.

"Scared of you? Think I’m intimidated because you’re a manager?"

"No, I think you’re totally in love with me dude, you’re too scared to admit it."

That pushes the last button for Taewoon, and with a buck of those burly shoulders he throws Sejoon off him and bites hard into Jungwoo’s lower lip. The wait staff and Yukwon cheer; Sejoon makes an apologetic sort of gesture and Yuhwan forces himself to remember his breathing exercises.

3.

Somehow, they end up in a gay bar. No one really knows how it happens - Taewoon blames Jungwoo, Jungwoo blames Taeha, and Taeha reminds them both that he was blowing some dude in the bathroom of the shitty bar they came from at the time they decided to move on, so it couldn’t have been his fault - but they’re there anyway, and there are guys in muscle shirts and girls with cropped hair and dark lipstick pressing in on all sides, and while Taeha tears up the dancefloor the older two decide to drink the bar dry.

It’s not so bad, in the end. They get chatting to a cute lesbian couple, buy them a couple of beers and despite the girls’ madly rolling eyes when they tell them, “Well, we’re straight but…you know, this place has kind of a good atmosphere,” they end up getting on pretty well. “You know, even though I’m not into it, I can appreciate an attractive dude,” Taewoon says, and Jungwoo stores that up as definite blackmail material. “I can like - I get it, kind of.”

"Get it?" One of the girls, the one with the pixie ears and arched eyebrows, gives him a look which is so daring it threatens a law suit. "Ever tried it?”

Taewoon buries his face in his beer with indistinct scoffing noises while Jungwoo waves his hand frantically like he’s trying to dispel the air of questionable sexuality which has somehow settled over both of them. “It’s not the same, though, you know, girls make out with girls all the time so it’s…it’s easier.”

Her girlfriend looks vaguely annoyed; the pixie-ears one just smiles satanically sweetly and cocks her head at him. “Yeah, girls sometimes make out to get guys hot, I give you that, but guys never do the same for girls. And sometimes they should really think about trying it.” And the way her narrow eyes flick between the two of them, and up and down Jungwoo’s body, makes something curl up in his stomach - even though he knows she’s not interested in him, he knows she’s just trying to get a rise. “Especially the hot ones,” she adds, curling up the corner of her lips into this devilish grin which effectively silences Taewoon’s spluttering.

What shuts him up even better is Jungwoo’s fist in his hair and his tongue down his throat. The girls, as it turns out, do not want a foursome, but they at least buy them another beer each for being game.

4.

The soju bottle is half-empty - or half-full, Tawoon says, depending on which way you look at it.

"Shut the fuck up," Jungwoo moans, rolling over on the floor and shoving his face into Taewoon’s thigh. "I’m depressed. I’m so miserable I’m going to kill myself."

Taewoon’s laughter is not the sympathetic response he had hoped for, and he returns with a feeble punch on the other’s leg. “Stop being so fucking weak,” Taewoon says, so sensible he would almost sound sober were it not for the fact that he can’t enunciate his consonants properly.

"I’m broken hearted and you’re the worst friend in the world."

"You dated for like, two months. Get over yourself."

Jungwoo hates it when Taewoon’s right. But even if they had only dated for two months, she was still the first girl he’d dated properly in nearly a year, and she was small and slender and wicked-eyed, and he was dazzled, hopelessly adoring even before she’d first said ‘yes’, and he’d finally had an answer to his mother’s increasingly hopeless questions about when he was going to settle down. It was difficult, working every evening and coming home to an empty bed, spending your time watching and serving other happy couples when you knew you had nothing to go back to yourself, and for a few short weeks he felt like maybe he had a chance of developing a real, adult life. He’d even had fleeting thoughts about finally quitting bar work and finding a steady nine-to-five job. Thank fuck he’d never told anyone about that, he thinks.

"Look, sure, you got dumped and you feel like a bag of trash right now," Taewoon says, sliding his hand a bit too roughly through Jungwoo’s hair. It’s comforting anyway. "But look on the bright side. Now you’re single again. We can go out and pick up chicks like before. You’ll forget her before you know it."

Jungwoo rolls onto his back again and stares up at the ceiling, unwillingly feeling life return to him in the form of a gross satisfaction in his own maudlin state. “No one will ever want me. I’m gross.”

"Dude, shut up. You’re hot. Everyone knows it."

He stares at Taewoon’s weird upside down face, tries a wobbly smile in response to the encouraging nods Taewoon’s giving him, and puts up one hand to mush against his cheek, more out of a desire to feel a familiar face than anything else. “Yeah?”

"Totally." And Taewoon does an awkward double bend which can’t possibly be comfortable and presses his dry, booze-drenched mouth on Jungwoo’s, pulling back a second later to give him a sharp slap on the cheek. "My totally hot friend. Now please stop being so fucking pathetic and get off me before I piss on both of us."

5.

"Those kids are the biggest pair of cockteases I have encountered since - since - " Taewoon can’t finish his sentence so he finishes his beer instead, in one long thirsty pull without taking his eyes off Jimin and Hoseok, grinding against each other not two feet away.

"Since Park Kyung and your little brother?" Jungwoo supplies, earning himself a punch on the arm and laughing anyway.

"God, even they’re not that bad." Even Taewoon is forced to avert his eyes as the two younger boys, faces flushed with the booze they’ve downed and the heat of the dancefloor, press up closer and breathe all over each other’s necks. "I mean, at least Kyung and Jiho actually make out once in a while. These two just - just pretend to."

His words are given weight by the way Jimin dips his head forward and Hoseok leans in to mouth at the air just in front of his lips, flashing a devastatingly evil smile and glancing at the two older boys. “They fucking know we’re watching them,” Jungwoo says flatly. “I don’t even get what they’re trying to do. If there were some girls around they were getting hot with this - “

"Right?"

" - like remember those lesbians that one time?"

And at the same time they both have the same terrible, fantastic idea. The next time Hoseok glances over - eyes dark, neck arched, Jimin in his hands like wet clay - the smirk drops right off his face when he sees the two older boys grin right back at him before launching at each other and showing him exactly how adults do it.

6.

It’s only nine or so when the tequila shots start being lined up, and as always Yuhwan protests that it’s too early and Jaehyo rolls his eyes and makes obnoxious comments about shots being immature and Minhyuk gets his camera ready. But the festive period was insanely busy; everyone’s hyped up and letting off more steam than an industrial chimney; the restaurant has been closed for three days to let them all get a bit of rest and typically, Jungwoo and Taewoon have been drunk for two of those three days. They’re holding onto each other for support, shouting encouragement for Sejoon’s less-than-steady pouring, while Yukwon spills salt and limes all over the bar because his eyes are so glazed over he can hardly see his own feet.

"To good times," Taewoon yells, slinging an elbow on the bar top and knocking over at least three shotglasses in his enthusiasm.

"To - to good teams," Jungwoo backs him up with an elaborate gesticulation at the rest of the staff, sitting or slumped in various states of inebriation around them. The music is too loud, they’re definitely too wasted, but it’s moments like this that make all the stress and worry and hard work worth it, and damn if they’re not going to eat up every last second of it.

Sejoon finishes pouring and puts his head in his hands, resting back next to Taewoon with the kind of moan that means he’s probably going to vomit if he doesn’t have a glass of water in the next sixty seconds. “Just - just don’t start making out again, please, I don’t think my stomach could handle it.”

Sprawled across the top table and prettily flushed, their new chef Seokjin raises his head slightly in confusion. “You say that like they make out a lot.”

"You have no idea," Hoseok mutters.

Taewoon waves his giant hand, hushes them all, even as Yuhwan begins to groan for them not to do it, “please guys, let’s have one party where you don’t - “

"To everyone," he toasts, holding his shotglass high, and Jungwoo bumps their wedges of lime together in a very lazy sort of cheers. The first round passes without incident, unless Sejoon dashing to the toilets counts as an incident. Shrugging, Taewoon helps himself to the bottle of tequila and begins to line up a second round while Jungwoo presses up against his shoulder in an utterly familiar and comfortable way.

"Bro," he says in a stage whisper, knowing full well that anyone even half-lucid will prick up their ears at the suggestive tone of his voice. "Bet you won’t do a shot off my chest."

Taewoon looks up, looks back at the rest of the staff with their heads in their hands, and meets Jungwoo’s eyes with an expression like he’s just told him a stripper’s on her way.

”Bro."


	16. WingBros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "wingbros Jungwoo and Taewoon attempting to get Yuhwan laid and/or discussing his mysterious hypothetical sex life/sexual preferences."

It’s the same conversation before every night out that Yuhwan reluctantly, wearily, eventually decides to go along with.

"Bro, we’re gonna get you laid."

"I don’t want to get laid - "

"Dude, really, it’s been too long. Leave it to us."

"I told you a hundred times, I’m not into one night stands, I don’t want - "

"Bro we are so gonna get you laid."

And however determined Taewoon and Jungwoo are that tonight will finally be the night; however many remarks they make to the girls they meet about Yuhwan’s excellent job and caring personality and the fact that he’s a dancer so, “well, you just have to look at that ass,” the night always seems to end in the same way: with the two of them trashed and ready to raise hell and Yuhwan a couple of seats away, having a gentle discussion about Murakami’s latest novel or the subtleties of dog-training. Maybe it’s his polite nature or maybe he really does have a curse on him that makes every woman he’s introduced to turn into a demure librarian. Jungwoo swears blind he once saw a cardigan materialise on one girl after talking to Yuhwan for five minutes.

The inescapable fact remains: Yuhwan does not want a one night stand, and he seems to be able to bend every atom of his not unnattractive body towards totally eradicating the possibility of one happening.

"I don’t get it so hard it kind of makes me angry,” Jungwoo says one night, stumping from the bar back to the high table to deposit another beer in front of Taewoon’s brooding face. “Like - he’s so goodlooking, you know? And he can charm the fuck out of anyone he likes. Even if he does want a ‘proper committed relationship’ - ” he puts his beer down to form air quotes around this phrase as if it’s something he’s personally offended by ” - he could pick someone up no trouble. I mean, what’s his deal?”

Taewoon switches position to lean his chin on the other fist, squinting his eyes out across the restaurant like he’s comtemplating the very matter which surrounds them rather than needlessly prying into a friend’s sex life. “There are two possibilities,” he says, after a long moment of invisible beard-stroking. “Either, he’s just not into sex - “

Jungwoo snorts loudly. They’ve known Yuhwan since school; they went through adolesence with him. Despite his frequent reticence towards the topic, the idea that Yuhwan is just plain uninterested in physical relationships is hardly plausible.

" - or - or he’s got a girlfriend already and he just doesn’t want to tell us about her. For some reason."

"A secret girlfriend?"

"Some people keep this stuff to themselves, you know?" Taewoon circles the rim of his glass, cocking an eyebrow at Jungwoo in a way that he probably thinks makes him look insightful but really just makes him a bit cross-eyed. "I didn’t know about my little brother and Kyung for like, two months, and I live with Jiho."

"Yeah, but I think that was more because you didn’t want to know about it. Literally everyone else twigged the first time they came to work holding hands and wearing each other’s shirts.”

Taewoon has to concede this point, remembering how he’d stumbled across Kyung in the bathroom that morning and wondered why he was a little more shirtless than he’d usually be after staying the night. He’d put it down to the unusually high temperatures for March and skillfully failed to notice the condoms in the bin.

"Besides," Jungwoo continues, stabbing a finger at the table to press his point. "That’s not even dating, really, that’s just…you know, a friends with benefits kind of deal. And still, everyone knows about it. So how could he have a proper, committed relationship without us knowing?"

"Hmm. True. I feel like any girl Yuhwan dated would be the kind to drop by the restaurant and bring him lunch, shit like that. He’d probably go round with a big wet smile on his face all the time, talk about her in every other fucking sentence like Kwonnie does." Yuhwan’s the kind of guy who watches day time soap operas with a dozy sort of contentment, and inevitably cries a little bit when the hero and heroine finally share their first kiss. Last Valentine’s Day he’d even bought chocolates for everyone on the staff. The idea of him being able to keep a real, romantic relationship entirely private is laughable.

Jungwoo stabs again with his finger, tapping his nail on the table to get Taewoon’s attention where he’s drifting off somewhat. “But - but a friends with benefits deal, that’s something Yuhwan could easily keep private - you know, he’s not a horny teenage asshole like Kyungie and Jiho, he’s got some sense of restraint. And that’d explain why he doesn’t need us to get him any.”

It takes a little while for it to dawn, but as it does Taewoon slowly straightens up, nodding, swigging his beer and spilling half the mouthful down his front. “Yeah - yeah, shit, you’re so right. That’s why he’s not all sexually frustrated or anything. And it’s not a one night stand but it’s not really a proper relationship either, so - yeah, fuck, you’re so spot on.” He gathers his gaze up and squints over as Jungwoo lifts his own beer in toast to himself and his own excellent deductive work. “That’s gotta be why he’s so chill all the time. He’s getting mad action behind the scenes.”

"Mad kinky action," Jungwoo corrects, and looks proud of himself when Taewoon splutters on his beer. "Come on, dude’s a closet freak, we all know that. You can’t be that fucking polite all the time without taking out your frustrations elsewhere."

"Shit," Taewoon chokes, laughing despite the beer cascading out of his nose. "Shit, you’re probably right, he’s got some secret honey-thighed chick who just sits on his face til the sun comes up - "

"I mean, he lets everyone on the staff call him ‘daddy’, what if he’s secretly getting off on it?"

"What, like some fucking, bend over, hands on your ankles kind of deal?"

"Probably. With an ass like that he’s gotta be into butt stuff - "

”Holy shit," Taewoon shrieks, clutching the side of the table to try to keep himself in his seat. Their boozy cackling reverberates around the empty restaurant until the lights seem to be shaking in time to it. Only when they begin to calm down - Taewoon clawing himself upright again in the most theatrical way imaginable; Jungwoo wiping actual tears away with the back of his hand - do they spot Minhyuk, watching from the dark doorway of the kitchen with folded arms and his usual attitude of an aloof but intrigued spectator. Like he’s an anthropologist observing lower life forms in their natural environments. Or maybe it’s just that he’s not pissed.

"Hyukkie," Taewoon greets. "Pull up a chair."

"We’re discussing the unnatural proclivities of our dear leader."

Just that sentence is enough to start Jungwoo sniggering again, which turns into whoops of laughter when Minhyuk sits next to him and says, dryly, “Yeah, I heard something about ‘butt stuff’.”

"I’m amazed he can cycle everyday if that’s what’s going on," Taewoon says, sounding as fascinated as he would if this were something true, rather than a drunk joke. "Or maybe he just does stuff to her ass - some dudes are into that, right? The - the forbidden entrance - "

He and Jungwoo lose it and bury their faces in their arms again while Minhyuk, hands clasped around his glass, remains silent and shakes his head. “Not only is this offensive and kind of rude,” he says eventually, “but you’re being really narrow minded about it.”

There’s just enough of a knowing tone to his voice to bait them both. Jungwoo blinks at him with wide, blurry eyes in a damp face, making an unwinding sort of gesture with one hand, suggesting elaboration is in order. “It’s not rude,” Taewoon says offhandedly, “we’re just trying to - to help him, you know, feel comfortable with whatever weird kinky shit he’s into.”

"Yeah, and anyway, we’re good friends," and Jungwoo assumes a vaguely insulted air. "If he’s got a secret girlfriend we should meet her, you know, make sure she’s good enough for our Yuhwan - "

"Make sure she’s doing the butt stuff right."

"By narrow minded," Minhyuk says, and takes his time sipping his beer, placing the glass exactly back in the ring of moisture it left on the table, swiping a line through the beads of condensation. "I mean you’re coming at it from one angle. I mean, why do you assume this secret partner is a girl?"

He’s up from the table and halfway across the restaurant before his parting sentence properly penetrates through the two inebriated brains. Taewoon and Jungwoo aren’t too comfortable hanging off his shoulders, especially when they’ve had a few each and are breathing threats and implorations into his ears to persuade him to give up the secret knowledge they assume he has, but Minhyuk has a heart of stone and values his private blackmail stash too much to share secrets with these loose-lipped drunkards. He shakes them off and goes to grab his coat, leaving the two of them alone in the restaurant, woozy and frustrated.

After another beer each and some serious thinking, Taewoon slaps his hand hard against the table. It’s not clear if the conclusion he presents comes from spite after being left hanging, or a genuine process of thought, but by the end of their night he and Jungwoo have firmly convinced themselves that the reason Yuhwan doesn’t want to have random one night stands with girls they help him meet, is because he is secretly having a fuckload of super kinky ass fun with Minhyuk.

"Yes, yes this makes so much sense,” Jungwoo slurs, and certainly at three a.m. after several beers, it makes perfect sense.


	17. Filthy Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Kyung makes one too many dirty jokes about Seokjin in front of Yoongi and Taewoon has to literally cover his mouth with his hand and carry him off the floor before there is, as he so indelicately puts it, a "midget fight"

Despite the occasional spit-fights over who got the most tips that night and who accidentally on purpose tripped Jiho up when he was carrying an armful of plates, Taewoon’s pretty happy with how well the wait staff get on (and how easy it is to shift the blame for the tripping up onto one of the younger boys, regardless of Jiho’s suspicious expression). Now the new boys are settled in, and everyone’s egos have bruised, hardened and finally moulded back into one piece, it’s a rare night that they end up experiencing one of the terrifying claws-out insult-flinging dramas that are such a regular occurrence in the kitchen, where tempers flare higher than the flames on the stove and Taeil is always at hand ready to swear at everyone and all of their ancestors. 

They get on comfortably, in spite of the endless jokes about Park ‘bury me in a Y-shaped coffin’ Jimin and Jiho’s all too frequent ‘prank’ of putting the cutlery on the highest shelf he can find so no one but Taewoon can reach it. They all know the menu well and have their own unique brand of service; they all rotate around the floor without complaint, sharing the ‘hot spots’ and the hot groups of customers; they all indulge in a similar sort of utterly filthy banter which Taewoon has managed, so far, to contain to the waiters’ station away from the sensitive ears of their guests but still encourages shamelessly whenever he’s around. It’s nice; they all seem to be friends.

He should have known, he thinks, as he turns from the middle of the floor with empty dishes piled in both hands. Harmony and peace could never last long in a place like this. Even in the crowded restaurant, with its heady bustle and the fucking infuriating bell at the bar pinging every twenty seconds to let them know drinks are ready to be collected (there’s one drink up there, Jongkook just happens to be a giant asshole) Taewoon can hear the comment Kyung makes as the newest chef hurries back to the kitchen. He’s got sauce all down the front of his whites and is clearly trying to make himself invisible, but he’s a big and awkward enough figure that it just isn’t possible. Just like it’s not possible for Park Kyung to keep his fucking voice down, especially not when he’s carried away with his own adolescent hormonal fantasies.

Throwing a charming grin over his shoulder at the table he’s just been serving, Taewoon speeds his pace back towards the waiters’ station where Kyung is half-engaged in printing out a bill but mostly staring longingly over his shoulder. “The fuck was that I just heard?” Taewoon demands, ditching the plates by the service hatch and rounding on Kyung. Typically, Kyung isn’t phased at all, just as he apparently hasn’t even noticed Yoongi standing right as his elbow, glaring hard enough that Taewoon’s surprised there aren’t welts appearing on Kyung’s cheek.

"Really. I would suck every bit of sauce out of his jacket just for a single look at his thighs. I’m so in love."

"You are literal scum," Yoongi grows, and goes to elbow him out of the way. Taewoon intercedes neatly, gives him a warning look and shoves him back off to the section he’s supposed to be serving.

"The fuck is wrong with him?" Now Seokjin’s disappeared back into the kitchen Kyung returns to the task at hand, arranging the bill neatly on a tip tray and checking his hair in the back of the shiny metal surface. "Can’t a guy express his appreciation for a beautiful human being?"

"I heard you halfway across the floor," Taewoon says severely, trying very hard to pretend he didn’t have to hold back a snigger at the phrase ‘eternal and devoted ass-play’. As disgusting as Kyung may be, he certainly has a way with words. "At least keep your fucking voice down, guests don’t need to hear about the stuff you’re imagining shoving up your asshole."

Kyung gives him a look which is almost convincingly offended. “It’s not ‘stuff’,” he says, “it’s Kim Seokjin’s dick, which I am entirely sure is as beautiful and perfect as the rest of him.”

"Just shut up, alright?"

"I only said I wanted him balls deep," Kyung says sniffily, and returns to his tables.

It’s not really Kyung’s insatiable thirst for their pretty new chef which worries Taewoon. If it were only a case of him relentlessly outlining the various ridiculous things he would agree to do for the chance to put any part of Seokjin in his mouth (although why Seokjin would ever want to go near Kyung’s filthy mouth is another matter entirely) then Taewoon would just follow his usual method of a laugh, a quick belt around the head and a warning not to let anyone hear. 

But it’s not just that. Taewoon has coerced the new staff out for a drink at least three times since they’ve started, and as thick as he knows he can be about some things (like how it’s not a good idea to trip Jiho over and blame one of his subordinates on a night when Yuhwan is circulating the floor) it didn’t escape his notice how quiet Yoongi was for most of the evening. It didn’t escape his notice how the normally half-lidded, laidback expression on Yoongi’s face somehow tightened up and hardened whenever Seokjin laughed, or looked over at him. When he wasn’t watching Jimin and Hoseok’s weird mating rituals, Taewoon was watching Yoongi watch Seokjin, who remained apparently blissfully unaware of the eyes fastened on him.

He tried to confront the younger guy about it precisely two times. The first got shot down pretty rapidly with a jerky, “fuck off you old pervert,” and Yoongi storming off to the bar. The second ended even more quickly with a threat of violence worthy of Lee Taeil, and even though Taewoon is twice Yoongi’s size and not easily intimidated, the sheer fury in his eyes forced him into an awkward retreat.

Fair enough, he thought. Maybe Yoongi’s not settled with his sexuality yet, or maybe he’s one of those people who keeps it all to himself, or maybe he just doesn’t think he’d have a chance because the naked truth is that Seokjin is tall, very handsome and extremely charming, while Yoongi smokes a lot of pot and sort of resembles a goblin. A cute goblin, but still the kind that lives under a bridge. Taewoon resolved then to let the kid sort out his own weird angry crush, and went back to his current favourite hobby of getting Jimin drunk enough that he’d sit on his knee.

That, however, was before the issue started being a problem on his floor. Taewoon can deal with a lot of bullshit from his younger staff members, but cat fights over their crushes is one dumbass step too far. The next time Yoongi’s hanging around at the station he swoops in and grabs him by the shoulder, a firm grip which is met neatly with an elbow to his ribcage.

He approaches the matter as diplomatically as possible - being head waiter, he has to set an example. “Quit being a little bitch. You know Park Kyung is a shameless slut, he says this kind of thing about everyone. You can’t start getting mad just cause you fancy that ass for yourself.”

"I’m not getting mad," Yoongi hisses, sorting through the cutlery drawer so viciously Taewoon’s concerned for his fingers. "And I don’t fancy anyone’s - you’re such a fucking moron."

Taewoon folds his arms across his chest and gives him a look flatter than a pancake. “Oh, sure. That’s why you’re getting all knight in shining armour over a few dirty jokes.”

"I just don’t see why you all feel the need to be so fucking coarse all the time." Yoongi slams the drawer shut hard enough that a couple of people look around, and for the first time Taewoon is compelled to use his superior height to overwhelm the other guy, blocking Yoongi off in a corner and leaning down to speak very carefully.

"Hey. Don’t give me that shit. You laugh at these jokes if it’s anyone else. I’m not trying to stick my nose in, I don’t give a shit whose dick you’re interested in, but if you don’t want anyone to know then I highly recommend you keep your beautiful, pure feelings to yourself and let Kyung have his five minutes of gross fun." He’s pretty impressed with that speech, although halfway through it becomes obvious that Yoongi’s not listening any more. Instead he’s glaring past Taewoon’s shoulder, at a spot which is roughly eye-level with him, and Taewoon’s no genius but he doesn’t need to turn round to know who it is.

"Why don’t you tell him," Yoongi says with an emphatic finger, "to keep his disgusting fantasies to himself?"

"I’m just saying," Kyung says, and Taewoon wonders why he feels the need to continue to ‘just say’ when Yoongi’s eye is already twitching like there’s bugs burrowing underneath the skin, "that I would happily have a face striped with burns for the sake of Seokjin taking me raw over his grill like a - "

Whatever foul and creative imagery Kyung was about to employ is silenced by Taewoon’s hand slapping firmly across the lower half of his face. He drags the tiny motherfucker away just as Yoongi lunges with a hand full of silverware.

"Smoke break," he says firmly when he’s manhandled Kyung to the back door. "Now."

"This is so unfair. Yoongi’s the crazy one."

"You were winding him up, you little bastard, don’t play the innocent card with me." He opens the door, oblivious to Kyung’s pathetic whining at the cold air of the yard, and shoves him unceremoniously outside, relenting just enough to chuck his packet of cigarettes at his head. "Take a time out, beat off if you have to, but cut the shit when you come back in. I’m not having any goddamn midget fights on my floor."

"Midget fights," Jungwoo says contemplatively when he relates this story later on. "I mean, that’s offensive as hell but also kind of funny."

"It’s not funny when one of them has a handful of forks and the other is screwing your little brother," Taewoon replies.


	18. Papa's Gonna Get That For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yoongi has unwilling feelings and Taewoon tries to help, in his own clumsy way.

Ever since Taewoon figured Yoongi out a little more, he’s grown creepingly, annoyingly fond of the foul mouthed little fucker.

Yoongi is, in many ways, the perfect employee: polite and attentive to the customers; well-versed in what he’s selling (that, alone, had been a blessing, when he came in on his second shift and Taewoon readied himself to spend the entire night following him around prompting him, only for Yoongi to reel off the entire menu to him when questioned and then cock a lazy eyebrow and ask if he could get on with his job now) and subtly persuasive in the way he sells it - and most importantly, hilarious when the guests can’t overhear him.

What really makes the job worthwhile, after all, is everything that isn’t the point of the job: the moments when there are no customers to be waited on, and they can hang out polishing glasses and cutlery, talk shit about the rest of the staff and the idiots they’ve been serving, or preferably kick back with a beer and get to know each other a little better. Actually, this - the post work bonding - is the only place where Yoongi seems lacking. Although he’s always ready during service with a witty comment or a foul joke about one of the other waiters, as soon as the shift ends and the clean up is done he disappears out to the back with Yukwon to smoke a fat joint, reappears with his eyes almost closed and immediately wobbles off home.

At first, Taewoon assumed he was getting used to the late nights. Then he wondered if the kid just didn’t like them very much, found them too brash - he was, after all, a stoner, and Taewoon knew from experience that being loud and drunk didn’t tend to be the favourite past time of any stoner. When he stayed after work Yukwon inevitably plugged his headphones in and sat in a corner playing games on his phone, only joining in when something really interesting happened. They were a big group, and noisy with it, and it took some getting used to.

But after a few months of this - a few months during which Taewoon coerced Yoongi out for drinks three times and saw a little of what was going on behind the deceptively placid face, after he saw the way his eyes travelled past the girls in tight dresses standing at the bar, to someone else entirely - he puts two and two together (he’s never claimed to be quick on the uptake) and realises that for some reason, Yoongi’s rota coincides a lot with Seokjin’s, and the nights Yoongi hurries out with his chin tucked into the folds of his scarf like he’s trying to hide a bad acne outbreak are inevitably the same nights when Seokjin’s just finising up in the kitchen and is about to wander out in his no-longer-white whites, flushed from the heat of the grill, a little damp and dishevelled, and utterly unaware of -

" - your massive disgusting puppy-crush on him," Taewoon says, and easily side-steps the hand that swings at him.

"I fucking hate you," Yoongi grits out. He’s busy setting up for tomorrow morning, and grinds each glass onto the table like he wants to embed it in the surface. "I do not - do not have a crush on anyone."

"Then why don’t you stick around when we’re done?"

"Because you’re a bunch of giant morons and I feel like my IQ drops twenty points whenever I have to be in your company."

Taewoon, already done with his set up, lolls in a nearby chair watching Yoongi jerk the tablecloth straight and nearly bring the whole table to the floor. He’s trying hard to keep the smile off his face but it’s impossible. There’s an adorable pink flush rising on the back of Yoongi’s neck which Taewoon’s sure he’s totally unaware of. “Okay, okay. Look me in the eyes and tell me you think Seokjin’s a total dumbass and you don’t want to kiss him even a bit.”

Yoongi stiffens like a cat being petted the wrong way. “Isn’t there medication for this kind of idiocy?”

"Is there medication for that giant stick up your ass?" Taewoon counters, "Because you know if you don’t get it out Jinnie will never be able to shove his - "

A plate smashes to the floor and Yoongi turns on Taewoon, his cheeks bright red. 

"Alright, shut the fuck up!" The yelling attracts attention from the bar, Jongkook and Sungmin peering over like inquisitive meercats, and Yoongi screws up his fists as he struggles to calm himself down. "I’m serious," he says in a quieter tone. "Just stop, it’s not funny."

Shit, Taewoon thinks, and that horrible squirm of guilt starts up in the pit of his stomach. The amount of times Yoongi’s almost punched Kyung in the face makes it pretty obvious he’s got it bad for their new chef, but the staff are constantly crushing on each other - it’s not a big deal. When Sungmin first got hired he’d mooned after Taeha for weeks before Taeha made it very clear that while he thought Sungmin was cute, he had no intention whatsoever of being in a monogamous relationship, and Sungmin’s crush had turned to friendly, semi-sexual banter swiftly after he’d seen Taeha exit the bathroom in a club, discreetly wiping the corners of his mouth. And a crush on someone as pretty as Seokjin wasn’t even worth writing home about. Half the restaurant had already expressed, in their own unique ways, a common desire to ‘take him home’.

This, Taewoon realises, is serious. And Yoongi - he tries not to snigger in disbelief at his own thoughts because it’s utterly confirmed by the way Yoongi’s fingers are twitching at his sides and he doesn’t look angry any more so much as a little desperate - is sensitive.

"Hey," and he holds up his hands, palms outwards. "Hey, I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t realise it was bothering you this much."

Yoongi sighs a little, kicks out a chair and sits down. He makes knots around his fingers with his blue cleaning cloth, watching his knuckles turn white and pink. “I know. I get it, you know, we all rag on each other. This is just…”

He cocks his head, eyes half-lidded and half-searching, and Taewoon leans in towards him. The temptation to make dirty jokes has completely gone. Yoongi looks small and a bit ashamed of himself but still fiercely defensive. “It’s cool. You can talk.”

Yoongi toys at his lower lip with his teeth for a few seconds. Now the fight’s gone out of him he’s hunched over, staring dully at the floor. “It’s just - I dunno, I’m trying not to think about it. I know - I’m sure everyone knows - but it’s fucking embarrassing. I’ll get over it, I just don’t wanna hear gross jokes about it.”

"I just don’t want it to become, like, an issue. If it makes shit difficult at work - "

"If Park Kyung would just shut his fucking mouth," Yoongi growls, and Taewoon has to bite his own lip then.

"If it’s worrying you, he’s not gonna do anything about it. He just likes to talk."

Yoongi’s shoulders slump and the blue cloth dangles limply from one hand. “I’m not gonna do anything about it either.”

Taewoon knows he’s probably supposed to ask why not and say something encouraging, but he’s never been one for bullshitting. Yoongi’s a good guy - smart and witty and cute in a grubby sort of way - and he seems to be confident in himself for the most part, but Taewoon’s confident of himself and he’d never ask Lee Hyori on a date. “Maybe if we get him drunk,” he says, and puts his hands back up when Yoongi shoots him a glare. “Okay, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, the guy’s pretty dense, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even noticed. Although he might if you keep avoiding him like a weirdo.”

"I’m not avoiding him," Yoongi mutters.

"Dude, you run like hell every time he stands next to you. You gave up your smoke break yesterday evening because you saw him go out at the same time. And," Taewoon finishes triumphantly, fairly sure he’s worked Yoongi into a corner, "you never stay after work when he does. Jesus, he’s gonna think you hate him if you carry on like this."

Yoongi tosses his cloth at Taewoon’s face, but he does it with something approaching a smile. “I’m being kind of stupid, huh.”

"Look, hang about tonight. You never know, if you spend enough time with him you might end up realising he’s not your type, or whatever." This evinces at least a little interest, and Taewoon presses the point, because not only is it causing fights between the waiters but it’s kind of annoying to have Yoongi turning into a brick wall whenever Seokjin appears. "I’m not saying you need to do a Kyung and talk loudly about how much you want his dick but, you know. Saying hello might be a good idea, at least. We’re all working at the same place dude, it’s good to be friends with everyone. And trust me, you do not want to piss off anyone in the kitchen."

Yoongi sighs again, but it doesn’t sound half as pathetic this time. He twists his mouth to one side like he’s contemplating what’s been said and gets back to his feet to continue working. “I don’t trust any advice you give me, just so you know.”

The usual snide smirk firms his voice up again but Taewoon can hear the apology and the thank you in his tone, so he just gives Yoongi a pat on the shoulder that makes his knees buckle, ruffles his hair. “I get it, but you should have a little more faith, really. I’ve raised like, six children in this goddamn place.”

Yoongi slaps his hand away. “It’s so creepy when you call us your children.”

"Fine. You’re like - like the little brother I never had."

From the other end of the room Jiho - quietly cleaning his section until now - completely loses his ability to keep his mouth shut. He hurls his bottle of spray cleaner to the floor and hollers, “I heard that you dick!”

Taewoon grins, grips Yoongi’s shoulder, doesn’t even look at Jiho. “You’re like the little brother I never had.”


	19. Blackmail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "A brief tale of Minhyuk's extensive blackmail library."

" - so the next time they turn up two fucking hours late maybe you could let someone know who actually knows what the fuck he’s doing and can sort this clusterfuck of a situation out, rather than leaving the information rattling around in your empty fucking head while you’re busy trying to flirt with the dead goddamn animals you’re supposed to be cooking!”

"Easy there tiger."

The glare Taeil shoots at Minhyuk would have anyone else shitting their stomachs out. Minhyuk meets it with a lazily lifted eyebrow and turns back to the pot he’s stirring, and Taeil, furrowing down his eyebrows so hard that they meet at the bridge of his nose, stamps out of the kitchen muttering something about, “goddamn useless delivery assholes.” The cause of his rage on this occasion is the late arrival of their dry goods suppliers, setting back lunch time prep at least fifteen minutes. Seokjin had gently pointed this out, and that was when the twitching ball of terror in the chef’s hat went off like a stick of dynamite tossed into a portaloo. Seokjin’s ears are still burning red as Taeil slams the door behind him. He looks to Minhyuk with his mouth and eyes about as wide as they can possibly go and puts down his knife so he can slow-clap his fellow chef.

Minhyuk acknowledges the applause with a one-shouldered shrug. “How?” Seokjin says. “How did you do that? You just - you just totally shut him down, that was amazing!”

With the pot bubbling away in front of him and the steam rising to coat his angular face, Minhyuk resembles an alchemist, smiling slyly at the brew which will bring him gold and eternal life, or maybe just the power to soothe the temper of tiny foul-mouthed monsters. He takes his time answering: lifting his spoon up, blowing, tasting, while Seokjin stands by his half-chopped hunk of lamb with his arms folded. 

"You haven’t heard yet?" Minhyuk just drops the words out as he nods over his soup.

"Heard what?"

"Taeillie’s never going to go off on me like that. I could come back with something much worse." He checks the heat on the stove, nudges it up a few notches, keeping his back turned on Seokjin although he can hear how his shoes are drumming on the tiled floor. Minhyuk bites back a smile, counting down in his head.

Right on cue, as he reaches ‘one’, Seokjin bursts out with, “Well tell me, don’t be all mysterious like that! Maybe it’s something I could use too - I mean, it’s not like I’m going to cry over it but I don’t exactly relish being called a dumb pretty boy every day.”

The laugh lurking in the back of Minhyuk’s throat escapes, gurgling and half-choked, and he turns around to find Seokjin looking equal parts frustrated and imploring. “I just mean I’ve got dirt on him.” Minhyuk makes sure Seokjin is watching as he slips his phone out of his pocket, unlocks the screen and finds the file he wants. “Lots of dirt.”

The blackmail file started a few weeks after Minhyuk joined the staff. It wasn’t hard for him to make the decision, not after he’d spent four days straight being yelled at and harrassed by Taeil only to find him curled up soundly asleep under one of the counter tops. He couldn’t blame the guy for his temper, he’d been struggling on in the kitchen with just Taeha for the four months they’d been open - this was back in the day when the staff had barely ten people, and no Jaehyo on the door to regulate the flow of customers. But nor could he stop himself from snapping a quick picture. He told himself it was just because Taeil looked so unexpectedly cute and peaceful, snuggled in among the pots and pans using his white jacket as a pillow. But he was aware, at the back of his head, that one day this picture could come in handy.

Maybe it was divine intervention that threw a lot of photo opportunities his way in the next few weeks. He was sent to the office to check up on an order, only Yuhwan had dashed away on some important matter and had left his desk drawer wide open. Everyone had heard the legend of this desk drawer: in contrast to the gleaming, barren desktop, this single drawer was a cataclysmic jumble of strange and wonderful junk: chocolate bars, rubber bands, broken pencils, ticket stubs, guitar strings, keys, candles, cigarette papers, nail clippers, and any other number of random small items - including, right at the top, a bottle of vivid pink nail polish. Minhyuk shrugged, took a picture, and remembered it only when they were drinking after work and someone suggested a wrestling match, for which their shoes had to be removed. When Yuhwan quietly sat this weird game out, Minhyuk was pretty sure he knew why.

Then there was the staff party where Jaehyo, newly joined and not yet used to how hard some of the other guys could go, got shit-faced beyond all recognition and spent half the night smeared with make up (by Jiho and Kyung, of course, who were in no better position to be applying it than Jaehyo was to be agreeing to it) and leaving red lipstick stains on everyone’s cheeks. There were pictures of butts - so many pictures of butts, but at least one third belonging to Jongkook, who was just the type to get his ass out when drunk. There was the time - and the pictures actually turned out quite tender, almost artistic - when Minhyuk caught Kyung sitting in Jiho’s lap, both of them curled round each other with a look that was much too loving to just mean friendship. The time Taeha got debagged in the staffroom. The time Jungwoo was so tired he brought a television remote to work and tried to call someone on it. The time Sejoon grew a hideous patchy moustache when he was off for a week and Minhyuk was lucky enough to see him out and about in town.

Seokjin’s chin is nearly hitting his chest as Minhyuk scrolls through this calvalcade of fuckwittery, stopping every so often to explain an incident or point out a particularly amusing expression. “And everyone knows you’ve got this?” he says, and Minhyuk nods, nonchalant as ever as he tucks his phone away.

"I think the only person who isn’t at risk is Taewoon, but that’s just because he’s totally fucking shameless. I’ve got a whole folder just with pictures of him and Jungwoo making out but it’s not like they’re of any use, everyone’s seen it before." He turns back to his soup, gives it a vigorous stir, and Seokjin makes a thinking kind of noise and prods the lamb about on the chopping board.

"So, Taeil leaves you alone just because you have a picture of him asleep?"

"Oh, it’s not just that picture. There’s a lot more, but I’m not going to show you everything. It’d lose power if I did." Minhyuk scrapes a little at the bottom of the pot to move up the sediment that’s forming. He can already hear Taeil’s quick, rattling footsteps down the hallway. "Better get on with prep. But - "

Seokjin pauses with his knife in the air and glances over his shoulder, ready to be thrown a bone. Minhyuk licks over his teeth. “If you’re ever feeling nervous of him again, just imagine a tiny angry tiger.”

The other chef’s eyebrows pull together and he cocks his head to one side. “What?”

Minhyuk hides his smirk in the steam from his cooking pot as the door busts open and Taeil strides in. Seokjin comes close to losing a finger with the speed at which he hacks into the meat again.

"They’re not gonna be delivering our stock late again,” Taeil says, marching to the grill to flick it on.

Minhyuk watches Seokjin’s face lose the smile at Taeil’s reappearance, and thinks maybe after all he’ll give the guy a little gift, when they next get a break together. He hadn’t been there at the party, after all. He hadn’t seen Taeil the morning after, or caught the glorious sight of the sleepwear he’d borrowed from Yuhwan. It was a picture so sublime in its ridiculousness that no one would ever take Taeil’s fury seriously again.

"That’s just grrrrr-eat,” Minhyuk says.

Taeil nearly spits into the sauce he’s preparing. “Shut the fuck up.”


	20. Bad Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Taewoon and Jungwoo find Jungwoo's roommate Sejoon's prose and, one drunken night, write a terrible romance novel together."

"Where’s Sejoonie, anyway?" It’s a bit late to be asking - Taewoon’s been sprawled on the couch for nearly six hours, the pile of empty beer cans at his feet growing and Jungwoo alternately dozing off and channel-hopping at his side - but that question tends to preface a request to stay the night, so Jungwoo looks at the closed door leading off from the living room and shrugs.

"Think he’s out. He’s not working tonight, but he said something about meeting some chick in a coffee shop and going for a date." His mouth gapes in a yawn which Taewoon presses his hand over with a disgusted look.

"That’s such a Sejoon-thing to do, wow. Meet a chick in a coffee shop - I bet he had his fucking portable typewriter with him, too."

Jungwoo snorts, levering himself upright and grabbing his phone off the coffee table. It’s nearing eleven, and if Sejoon were home he would be hanging out with them by now, curled up in the armchair which has assumed the shape of his body, pretending to read but still managing to make snarky comments at all of their drunken banter. “Man, don’t tell him I said this, but some of his latest stuff’s been really fucking impressive. I don’t think he’s far off from publishing.”

"As long as I get to be on the cover," Taewoon says, rolling back his shoulders to strike a dramatic pose with his biceps flexed. "I reckon I’m the original inspiration for Go." 

Go is the protagonist of the novel Sejoon’s been writing for nearly two years. He’s the leader of a rebel organisation which operates underground in a not-so-future dystopia, but Jungwoo and Taewoon will never tire of turning Sejoon’s tireless attempts at original fiction into the kind of purple-prosed pseudo-smut read by middle aged ladies for tea time titillation.

It’s that time of the evening when Jungwoo reaches under the coffee table for his stash box, cleverly disguised as a leather-bound collection of short stories, the type of thing handed out occasionally by broadsheet newspapers. He flips open the lid and takes out the grinder, working the top around as he thinks. “Yeah, totally. You with your shirt off - and they’d have to give you long hair, and like, big black boots - and some chick in a white dress swooning at your feet.”

"With her bosom exposed," Taewoon says, picking out the packet of cigarette papers and tearing off a strip for the roach.

Half an hour later, with one spliff smoked, they both crack open another beer and Jungwoo balances his laptop on one knee because Taewoon’s chin is digging into the other. “So - so it’s, we start with a misty morning - “

" - No, no, it’s the evening - it’s fucking twilight." Taewoon waves one hand in the air like he’s trying to draw what the sky’s supposed to look like. "Start like that, start, okay, ‘It was twilight, the darkness falling across the corn fields like - like - "

" - like the skirt of a haughty queen, stepping from her carriage," Jungwoo supplies.

"Giving you a good look at her undercarriage."

"And scattered with stars like the moles on her bosom. The young milkmaid, sequestered mournfully by the side of her favourite cow, looked up at the full moon with unabashed longing in her glowing eyes - "

" - Eyes that seemed too young and yet so old and - and horny - "

"Dude, you can’t just say ‘horny’. We’re trying to build an atmosphere here." Jungwoo sniffs and pulls the laptop away from Taewoon’s wandering hands. The way he resettles himself and positions his fingers over the keyboard is a perfect imitation of Sejoon after he’s told them both to fuck off out of his room. "Eyes that seemed too young to hold the undeniable want that burned deep in the ebony pupils…"  
 _  
"Oh when will he be here?" she moaned pathetically to the noble bovine at her side - her one true friend in this cruel and uncaring world. "When will my lord arrive?" It was then that she saw, on the horizon, the silhouette of a rearing stallion, its jet-black mane outlined against the sky and the figure perched so elegantly atop it, one arm high in the air. The magnificent animal galloped terrifyingly quickly towards the cowshed, its hooves beating a rhythm which matched the one which struck up in her pulsing heart until her breasts began to heave beneath the flimsy white cotton of her dress._

_She could stand it no longer; the anticipation of having near to her the man whom she held in god-like regard overwhelmed her frail elfin figure and she dashed like a wild cat out into the pouring rain, which soaked her and made her thin dress cling to every succulent curve of her body. The horse skidded to a halt mere inches from where she stood, the rider gazing down from under his magnificent eyebrows. He was severe and his gaze was dominant and rooted her to the spot like a trembling and beautiful shrub. With one hand he removed his helmet, while the other moved to begin unbuttoning the heavy overcoat he wore. With his other hand he reached down to her, and she clung desperately to his outstretched fingers, covering the calloused palm with her tears and damp kisses._

_"My Lord, my Lord," she sobbed hysterically, crying until her eyes soaked her more than the driving rain. He said nothing, only dropped his overcoat on her as a token gesture of kindness. She wrapped herself up in it, inhaling deeply his heady musky scent. "My Lord will you not speak to me?" she begged._

_In answer, he swung his leg over the side of his horse and dropped to his feet next to her, startling her so that she stumbled back in shock, clutching his coat tighter around her heaving chest. With a delicate yet demanding touch he pushed back the soaked hair which framed her face, and she melted under his insistent caresses. “My Lord, speak to me, show me your heart,” she pleaded._

_"I am a dangerous man," he growled. His voice was rough, husky like a wolf but there was tenderness in it too, sweetness like the first pail of milk she drew each morning from her favourite cow. He reminded her somehow of this cow: so stately, so distant, and yet underneath she could detect the warmth of a beating heart and flesh which breathed and moved just as she did. His eyes lit on her piercingly and at that moment the sky gave forth a shimmering crash of lightening. Her weak heart gave out, and she swooned luxuriantly into his bulging muscular arms, her head falling against his solid breast, weeping the weep of a timorous yet undeniably eager woman._

_"My Lord, show me that you care for me," she wept. Her desperate tears fell seductively against his square shoulders. His hands rose to firmly caress her slender waist, moving up her quivering body gently to cup her soft breast. He felt his virile manhood stiffen at the needy press of her rosebud body. The soaked piece of cotton between them was no more than a piece of dust he brushed away with one easy pull of his strong hand, and then she was blindingly naked before him, wet and trembling, gazing back with eyes that seemed to say -_

"What the everloving fuck, guys?"

Sejoon hasn’t even had time to remove his coat before he’s stopped dead in the entrance to the living room. Somehow, Jungwoo and Taewoon have managed to squash both of their bodies on the sofa, lying side by side with the laptop in serious danger of landing on the floor because they’re both laughing too much to keep it in place.

Sejoon’s shaking his head as he unwinds his scarf. “The place stinks of weed. I can smell it in the outside corridor. And what was all that about, ‘wet and trembling’?”

"You’ve inspired us Sejoonie," Jungwoo says, "we’re going to write a novel."

Sejoon just gives them both another long, despairing look before going through to the kitchen to fix a drink. “With the shit that gets printed nowadays, you’ll probably have better luck than I do.”


	21. Pet Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Kyung and Yoongi passive-aggressively sniping at each other by coming up with ever-more-ridiculous petnames."

At some point, Kyung notices that Yoongi isn’t into casual affection.

All the waiters are touchy and cute with each other in a way that none of the other staff are. The bartenders are crammed into a small space for too much of the day to want to get close when they’re not working, however much Yukwon and Hoseok enjoy their patented “shake and grind” dance. The guys in the kitchen, for the most part, would carve their own thighs up and serve them in a delicious sauce before voluntarily snuggling into each other. But the wait staff - whether it’s the inherent nature of those on the team or something to do with their double-sided life, pleasant and smiling to the customers and viciously savage when they’re out of earshot - are naturally physical. Pet names slip to their mouths like spit; hugs are distributed without prejudice. Yoongi is the only one who breaks this pattern.

Kyung watches Yoongi flinch at the sight of Taewoon rubbing Jihoon’s cheeks briskly between his hands and cooing something stupid at him while Jihoon pouts back and pretends like he’s not enjoying it. He watches Yoongi roll his eyes from over Jiho’s shoulder as Kyung barrels into him with a freight-train force hug. He watches Yoongi twist his mouth and hold in a scoff while Jimin hangs off Hoseok’s shoulders as he’s trying to get to the kitchen, stretching every inch of himself to snap at Hoseok’s ear until he gives in, leans forward and gives Jimin the piggyback ride he’s waiting for. And he watches Yoongi shy away like a restless pony from hands on his shoulders, hands at his waist, sly calls of, “hey sexy.”

"What’s got you so jumpy today?" Taewoon grins his mile wide grin and pinches Yoongi’s cheek - or rather, he tries to, and Yoongi catches his fingers and attempts to crush them in his fist.

"I don’t want to catch whatever rare STDs you carry."

He’s a little jumpy every day, especially when someone gets too close. Kyung isn’t sure if it’s a personal thing, or if Yoongi just doesn’t want to break the laid back, aloof character he presents. He’s chill most of the time, happy to share a joke when someone else is being victimised however plain he makes it that he thinks it’s ridiculous. But when it’s directed towards himself, he freezes.

Kyung being Kyung, he exploits this to the max. Sidles up beside Yoongi as he’s going through the cutlery drawer and slides his hands over Yoongi’s as if it’s an accident, stifling sniggers when he snatches back. Creeps up behind him and runs his fingers up Yoongi’s spine just to watch him stiffen and stumble away, eyes livid at Kyung when he turns around.

"What’s wrong babes?" he asks in a voice dripping with saccharine poison. "Not feeling affectionate?"

"If you ever call me that again," Yoongi growls, prising Kyung’s fingers off his wrist one by one and bending them back further than they’re supposed to go, "I’m gonna go get the biggest knife from the kitchen and slice your fucking mouth off your stupid face."

Kyung rubs his knuckles, pouts a little, still trying not to laugh. “Can I call you sweetheart, then?” Yoongi just walks off. “Darling?”

At some point, someone - it can only be Taewoon - tells Yoongi that the only way to fight Kyung is to beat him at his own game.

Yoongi’s settled in a little more now, learning to put up with sloppy hugs and overt innuendo, and although his confidence was just fine when he first joined, he didn’t want to be the one rocking the boat by complaining about something everyone else took as standard. So he let Kyung have his idiotic fun for a while, gritted his teeth and ignored it the same way he ignores Taewoon pinching his cheeks. A month or so in, he thinks he’s established himself well enough to start biting back. That, and if he has to hear one more cutesy term of endearment directed his way from Kyung, he’s going to make good on his threat.

"I know you’ve got an evil streak under that misanthrope front," Taewoon says - which sounds like a contradiction but Yoongi knows what he means (although he still swats Taewoon’s hands away from his face). It’s easier to be gruff and swear than to let loose the sharp side of his tongue like he normally would, at least until he’s got to know people a little better.

He’s got to know them all a little better now and he gives his tongue a good stropping, shines it up nicely and waits for Kyung’s next attack.

Halfway through a lunch shift, he’s just got done polishing a huge tray of cutlery in between orders when Kyung pops up: damp about the forehead, eyes shining from the effort of the hundred-watt smile he’s got plastered all over his face. He shoves his order-tablet into one pocket and sneaks up at Yoongi’s side, fingers scuttling much too close to his hip and much too intent on the tray of clean equipment.

"I’m just going to borrow a few," he says, and Yoongi might have let him - he’s looking after the busiest section and he hasn’t had a single break since he started - except he follows it up with a drop of the eyelids that turns his service-smile into a sleazy grin, and his fingers tapdance down Yoongi’s arm on their way to the tray. "That alright sugar?"

Yoongi grips his hand at the wrist and forces it back. He turns on him with his own best serpent-eyed simper, fangs just hidden. “Put those fingers to good use and polish your own, angel.”

To his credit, Kyung doesn’t bat an eyelid, somehow managing to turn his hand so his palm is flat against Yoongi’s and the grip becomes less a threat of broken fingers and more a kind of promise clasp. “I swear, I’ll treasure your cutlery like it’s my own, my precious.” It’s easy enough to use that clasp to push Kyung away from the station; less easy to disentangle their fingers. Kyung’s grin becomes far too self-satisfied as he clings on. “Babe, don’t turn your back on me like this, I need you.”

"You’ve got to learn to deal with your own problems, pudding," Yoongi says, quoting Taewoon almost verbatim and knowing it hits hard when Kyung drops his hand and scowls. He pins the smile on his face, pulling his eyes open as wide as they’ll go and blinking at the other boy while he slides himself between Kyung and the waiters’ station.

A second later Kyung’s hands skim past his waist and his mouth is right at Yoongi’s ear; it takes all of his self control not to cringe away right then, because Kyung is prickling with sweaty heat, and his breath smells like cigarettes and coffee. Yoongi can feel his skin getting sticky just from being this close to him. The noise of Kyung licking his lower lip in such high definition makes him bite his tongue with repulsion.

"Come on beautiful," Kyung says, the laughter quaking in every syllable of his purred out words. "Let me grab some of that sweet silver."

The sound of Kyung’s back hitting the wall doesn’t go a fraction of the way towards drowning out his screeching laughter as Yoongi stalks off with burning ears and an unshakeable urge to shower. When he comes back all of his hard work has vanished, replaced by a fresh batch of spoons still slimy from the dishwater. He’s contemplating shredding the tea towels out of spite when Kyung passes again, making an obvious beeline for the group of college-age girls who have just sat down in his section.

"Ah, so much work to do," he says, heavily sweetened and utterly fake sympathy in his voice and smile. "Don’t get stressed cutie, you’re too pretty to be frowning like that."

Only the very visible presence of Jungwoo stalking in their direction stops Yoongi from upending the entire tray over Kyung’s head.


	22. Go The Hell Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Seokjin is a sick baby and Taeil swears a lot but what else is new?

The ventilators gasp, the overhead lights chunder and gnash their teeth, the stoves spit chunky burning tentacles into the air. Everything is red metal, searing to the touch, laced with crockery clattering and metal crashing on metal and orders barked from one side of the kitchen to the other:

"Stir your fucking pots or I’ll be serving your phone up as a special side, that soup is burning its ass off - keep a goddamn eye on that grill - you, E.T., eighty-five on ginger and noodles and make it fucking snappy - "

Seokjin’s right in the middle of this furnance, crouched over a grill flipping sides of marinated beef amid steam so thick it clogs up his eyes. He grabs two seconds to tip his head back and force his shoulders out of the hunch he’s fallen into. The stretch just makes the rest of him hurt worse. There’s a dry lump in his throat the size of a fist and his spine has turned into barbed wire. He touches a wet palm to the countertop and then against his forehead, but there’s no cool relief possible when everything is so hot it seems that Taeil is determined to grill the meat like it’s a sinner in the pits of hell itself.

"I need another twelve portions of that shit and I need it now," Taeil hollers from the front. His arms are going like a windmill in fast-forward mode, moving so fast he’s little more than a blur, and even Taeha seems to be doing four things at once, even if one of them is checking his phone (but then Taeha is perpetually checking his phone; checking his phone is more a state of being than an activity to him) and Seokjin knows he’s letting the side down but -

He cuts off his own train of thought, bending all of his will towards getting to the plates Taeil’s elbowing towards without his knees giving out. The beef is little more than a blur as it slops onto the dish, and he’s back at the grill before he’s conscious of having moved, watching his hands like they aren’t attached to him as he starts the process all over again. His eyes flicker shut for just a moment and he screams at himself. In his head it’s louder than Taeil could ever manage, although he’s making a pretty good attempt at it:

"Did someone staple a mirror to the fucking wall today, Narcissus? I can’t think of any other reason for you to be moving like a doped up grandmother - put your fucking back into it, we’re getting reamed here!"

Seokjin tries - he really does - but if he puts his back into it all the food is going to taste like pain and knotted muscles. He’s always been excellent at pushing himself through sickness, sleeplessness, bad feelings - he didn’t have much of a choice in his previous job, where admitting to so much as a headache was grounds for getting ripped to shreds through the entire shift. The kitchen is is a merciless, hostile environment, much like a forest fire: screaming, dead animals and heat that makes your eyeballs sweat. Most days Seokjin likes to think of himself as the spray of icy water calming the flames. Some days he manages to be at least one of the birds which take off and hover above the inferno, panicked and singed but still safe. Today - whether it’s the beginnings of the February flu that’s being passed around the staff like an unflattering nude picture, or the lack of sleep the night before, or just an ill wind which has twisted all his joints into figures of eights and left his brain like a glitching computer - today he’s firmly on the forest floor: a sapling rooted to the spot and crumbling into ash.

It’s been three hours and he’s working until close and he really thinks he might die if he can’t have at least a glass of water.

The fever whips them on until three thirty, when the rush starts to die away and the ticket machine chatters to a halt. Taeha flicks through his phone with one hand and shuts off the heat on half the grills while Seokjin begins to gather pots together for Taehyung to scrub. It’s the new dish-washer’s second morning shift and he looks shell-shocked, although he looks shell-shocked about half the time anyway. Seokjin manages to produce an encouraging smile for him and holds it for an impressive twenty seconds before locking eyes with Taeha.

"Smoke," Taeha says, and Taeil just grunts and shrugs, still wrangling with a pot of noodles. Taeha shoots out before Seokjin can even ask, but he needs that glass of water more than a cigarette. He sags against the counter as he drinks, trying to take deep breaths despite the pains in his chest.

"Why are you holding it like a fucking child?" Taeil snaps, and Seokjin carefully rearranges both of his hands around the glass so they don’t look like they’re trembling so much and just shrugs. "Fuck was wrong with you today, why are you acting like a crippled old man?"

Seokjin cringes, tries to drown himself in his glass for a moment. Taeil’s got a big knife swinging from one hand and a bunch of carrots dangling from the other like severed limbs, and his expression suggests a lie will not be received in any kind of good humour. “Just, just not with it today, I’m sorry - I’ll get it together for tonight - “

"What the hell?" Cutting off Seokjin’s tripped up attempt at an excuse, Taeil points the big knife straight at him, furrows down his eyebrows. "You’re not fucking working tonight."

For a second Seokjin’s heart leaps, thinking maybe he’s got it wrong, but then he remembers how many times he checked the rota to convince himself, when he woke up that morning to his concrete limbs and mud-filled head. “No, I am - I’m on a split shift, eleven until close - “

"No," Taeil says, gesticulating with his knife again. "I said you’re not fucking working tonight. You’re sick, you look like shit, you’re being a miserable pain in the ass. Go the fuck home and go to bed, and come back in tomorrow your usual disgusting, beautiful self."

Seokjin nearly drops his glass. Taeil’s already turned his back again by the time he’s registered what’s been said. He drains the rest of his water, pinches at the back of his neck with this strange quivering feeling in his stomach, which he tries hard to tamp down because he always gets over-emotional when he’s sick, and Taeil is the last person in the restaurant - maybe on the whole planet - he’d want to start tearing up in front of. But he can’t escape the fact that without him saying anything, Taeil has noticed his distress and cares enough to send him home. His eyes burn a little, and not from the spices charring on the cooling grills. He thinks about Minhyuk arriving at four, and that Taeil will almost certainly stick around until close and that’s not really fair, Taeil works more hours than any of them and it’s going to be tougher on them without him there, he’s letting them down - but all of this is secondary to the fact that he’s pretty sure his shin bones are splintering.

"Are you sure?"

"Get out of my fucking kitchen already. Fuck, pretty people are one hundred percent more disgusting when they’re sick."

Seokjin takes the chance and stumbles to the changing rooms. Taeha’s just coming back with a perfectly rolled cigarette between his lips, phone in hand. He looks Seokjin up and down without stepping out of the doorway. He might have something to say; he might be annoyed. It’s impossible to tell with Taeha. Just in case, Seokjin starts up his litany of stumbling apologies again, still feeling a hard knot of guilt in his stomach: “I’m sorry - I - Taeil said - ”

"Go get some beauty sleep," Taeha says. He smirks with the tip of his tongue flickering into the corner of his mouth and pats Seokjin on the arm. "And get well soon, you’re gonna owe us all for this."


	23. Well Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Mama Woo. And maybe the words "well done"

It’s a struggle to convince Mrs. Woo to visit the restaurant as often as Taewoon and Jiho would like. Of course it’s ball-clechingly tense serving your own mother, and they both know - as does every old hand working those nights - that she knows exactly how the place is supposed to be running and won’t hesitate to comment on anything that seems out of place - but they also know she adores the food and drinks, likes the atmosphere, and more than anything else she doesn’t go out enough.

"You work so hard," Jiho says at least once a week, employing his best wheedling tones which never get more reaction than a disapproving look. "You deserve a night to relax."

"You all work very hard too," his mother will say, and he stands and bears it as she swipes her thumb over the dark circles under his eyes, like they’re smudges she can clean away. "I don’t want to make things more difficult for you. I know you all get nervous when I’m there."

It’s true, but the nervousness is an encouragement. Yuhwan jokes they should pay Mrs. Woo to come eat there every night; service is never more polite and efficient than under her watchful eye. The newer boys have picked it up from the older ones. The older ones respect and love and in some small measure fear her like they would their own parents, except their own parents are not so closely tied to the life and history of the restaurant. Taewoon and Jiho, still living at home because they and their mother are an unbreakable unit and have always shared everything they have with each other, keep her up to date on what’s going on. She’s been there the whole time, watching the place flourish, and although it’s their business, their creation, she is far more the arbiter whose approval is sought than even their shadowy purported boss.

Four years ago now - it feels like nothing, they all agree, but that’s what happens when your life is crammed with change and important decisions - the inital gang had drawn up the plans for their restaurant in the Woo family’s kitchen, huddled around the scarred dining table with huge sheets of paper. Yuhwan was always at the head, conferring with Jungwoo and dictating to the others - the two of them had been the instigators, dragging their friends into their proposal for a competition. The brief was to design a business that would support and promote local trade, bring a new flavour to the area and offer something both traditional and modern. The prize was the funding to start the business up. Yuhwan and Jungwoo had the know-how from their studies; Taewoon didn’t know shit about business but he had a big imagination; Sejoon, a year below them in school but always in the library when Jungwoo was, had asked if he could help out since no one would embark on an entry with him. When they expanded their idea into a restaurant with an attached bar, they needed a cook, and Taeil - solitary, a little hostile, but the son of the head chef at the most famous restaurant in their part of town - was an obvious choice.

None of them had expected to win the grand prize - except Mrs. Woo, of course, who had kept them well supplied with soft drinks and snacks as they plotted, and had always been on hand whenever she wasn’t working late to supply ‘a woman’s eye’, as she called it. Were it not for her, the bar and grill would have been hellfire red from head to toe, since Jungwoo read somewhere that red made people want to eat more. She’d laughed when they told her, with popping eyes and shaking fingers, of their success - laughed like she’d known all along and had only been keeping the secret to see their reactions.

"Now you can start paying me back for using my kitchen as a diner the last three months," she’d said. And it turns out to be ironic, really, since she only visits the restaurant every few months. Still, whenever she walks through the front doors the reaction is the same, and the younger members of staff watch the self-important manager hyungs turn back into eager, compliant children.

The charming smile doesn’t have to be forced as Jaehyo escorts her to a table; it comes naturally in response to her warm enquiries about his health. She looks around the space with a content sigh. “I always like to see how things have changed since I last came. That’s a lovely new vase over there. And he must be the new waiter Taewoon was telling me about.”

By the waiter’s station Jiho is saying something to Yoongi, his eyes and teeth sparkling, and Yoongi cranes a little to see over the heads of the other diners. Jiho bounds out of sight for a brief moment into the back area where Taewoon’s serving. Mrs. Woo smiles, flutters her fingers to the boys behind the bar before she sits down, and Sejoon is seen to grin and immediately begin mixing up her favourite drink.

After the usual argument, and arm-wrestling contest, Taewoon wins the right to wait on their mother, although he knows she’ll call him out if she sees any preferential treatment. He’s been embarrassed once before when she raised her eyebrows and shot a pointed glance at a table he had his back turned to, who had been trying to get his attention. He’s more conscientious this time, and he has to be because it’s busier than she’s ever seen it. Yuhwan stops by for a minute, rambles about their customer satisfaction ratings and the rave reviews they get online, which she promises to read before she presses his hand and tells him to make sure he’s sleeping enough.

While she takes her purse out - Taewoon’s given up trying to persuade her to let him comp everything, she’s adamant she won’t take money out of their coffers - Taewoon pauses in between piling up plates. He watches her count out bills, sip her water and sit back, satisfied.

"So," and it’s a blessing the place is busy because there’s no one there to see the redness in his cheeks. "I think - I mean, we’re doing pretty well, right?" Much as he tries to phrase it like a comment, it can’t help but sound like a question. His mother leans forward and touches her fingers to his warmed up face.

"You’re doing wonderfully. This place is a marvel, and I’m so proud of you - all of you." She tucks her purse back into her bag and stands up, and Taewoon throws his professional reputation to the wind and envelops her in a hug. "Well done."

Later on, Yoongi will comment that it’s an incredible coincidence for something to get into Taewoon’s eye at that precise moment, and he doesn’t understand when all five of the manager hyungs shake their heads as if he’s said something in very poor taste.


	24. Code Eighty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jongkook and Hoseok have a mini catfight behind the bar and suffer the consequences.

Filthy water slaps Jongkook in the face. He spits down into the sink and flashes an enraged look on Sungmin, who stands guilty with the top of his Boston still in his hand, held like an impotent grenade between himself and Jongkook.

"Sorry," he says experimentally. Jongkook growls, jerks his head towards the flooded sink and redirects his attention to the stirring tin in front of him.

"Just unblock the damn sink and stop chucking shit in there without looking." Being forced to scoop sodden mint leaves and battered, blackened lime wedges out of a plughole is punishment enough, so Jongkook tries to smile once Sungmin’s wiped off his hands and resumed work next to him. He tries to smile but the expression gets slashed off his face before it can really gain a hold there, by a falsetto trill of laughter from the point bar. Sungmin edges to one side, the bar spoon in his hands rattling against the side of the tin, as Jongkook’s eyebrows slam down.

"We’re gonna have to give people discounts for making their ears bleed," he mutters.

Sungmin twists his mouth to the side, clearly unsure whether he should appease Jongkook by laughing or call him out on his unnecessary swipes at their fellow bartender. He settles for an awkward grimace, a kind of that’s-funny-but-a-little-too-far-dude sort of expression, and Jongkook squirms internally. He knows Sungmin likes Hoseok, admires his skill and speed behind the bar and on the dance floor. Everyone does. Jongkook himself, however unwilling he is to admit it, admires him as well.

But it was like Yukwon said once, when they were out in the quiet night at the end of a shift, when the darkness and the sudden release of nervous energy has all sorts of half-formed, half-fair comments slipping out of you. 

"He’s just that good." Pause, click of the lighter, Yukwon’s even, cold-blooded expression visible in the rush of flame. "I want to see him fail."

Jongkook had snickered and lit up his own cigarette, feeling like they were a pair of conspirators, bound by their mutual acknowledgement of the fact that while Hoseok might be peppy and quick and charming enough to have the managers falling over themselves to pet him, to his team mates he’s a show-boating annoyance and nothing more. Whenever they worked shifts together Yukwon was always there to share a sympathetic eyeroll while Hoseok, either ignorant or deliberately ignoring them, practised flipping tins up behind his back and catching them in exactly the kind of over the top flair that Sejoon would have a fit at, if anyone else did it.

Then there had been that shift. The now-legendary power cut; the glasses washed by hand while everyone else blundered helplessly in the dark, and the next day Yukwon and Hoseok were somehow the best of friends. Now, alone in his emnity and utterly aware of how pathetic his thoughts would sound to anyone else, Jongkook can only glare at Hoseok from across the bar as he wiggles his hips and stretches gleaming streams of spirit between bottle and tin, and smiles that fist-shaped smile at his customers.

Jongkook shoves two martinis forward on the counter, chucking the ticket after them into a puddle of melted ice and ignoring Jimin’s thanks as he collects them. With one hand skating over the screen of the till and the other scooping crushed ice into two fresh glasses, Hoseok still finds a second to catch Jongkook’s eye and wink. He’s practically ablaze with the satisfaction he’s feeling in his own vibe.

"Hyung," Sungmin says, and when Jongkook turns around he’s carefully avoiding his eyes, measuring out vodka and chewing into his lip. "Hyung, if you just asked, I’m sure Hobi would swap with you."

He restrains the temptation to shove the whole tin off the bar top and over Sungmin’s favourite shirt, just turning to the fridge behind them, hoping that the chill as he retrieves some beers will calm him.

"It’s nothing to do with that," he snaps, "and anyway, I don’t trust Hoseok to look after you here."

It’s absolutely, unavoidably, one hundred percent to do with this, and he knows from the way Sungmin pouts his lips out and furrows his eyebrows that he knows it too. The new staff don’t understand. Jongkook slaved as a barback for months before hard work and daily begging got him onto making drinks. Sungmin was lucky: he only suffered two months before Hoseok came along, and Hoseok had been so glaringly wasted in the menial job that he’d barely spent two weeks washing glasses and running for stock. And it wasn’t fair, Jongkook thought, cracking the beers open and hoping one of the caps would fly down Hoseok’s throat where he’s got his head thrown back, giving that screeching laugh again. Sejoon hadn’t let him near the till until he’d done a hundred evenings of penance suffering the waiters at the dispense bar, until he’d proved he knew every drink inside out. And here was Hoseok, barely a month on the staff and already taking over point nearly every evening he worked, while Jongkook got stuck with alternately irritable, lewd or lazy wait staff, and Sungmin bumbling his way through the orders, asking pained questions every five minutes.

Of course he could swap. Hoseok could look after Sungmin just as well as he could. But Sungmin was his responsibility - he’d trained him and helped him get as far as he had, and he didn’t need Hoseok swooping in to elbow him out there as well.

The word, “jealous” is visible hovering just a milimetre in front of Sungmin’s mouth. He’s protective enough of his own tender regions not to say it. Jongkook scoffs, flicks off the tap to stop the sink from flooding again, and resolves not to even look at Hoseok for the rest of the shift.

It’s closing time when he’s forced to lay eyes on him again. He’s exiting the barback area with a bucket of soapy water ready to start scrubbing the dispense bar, Sungmin having gratefully hung up his apron at ten, when Hoseok appears and forces him to do an awkward two-step to avoid him, sloshing foam over their feet.

"Ah, sorry," Hoseok says, but he can’t look sorry with that bunchy crinkled up grin on his face. "Hey, can you do me a favour and close down the point bar for me? Sejoonie showed me how to clean out the coffee machine yesterday and I wanted to make sure I’ve got it down - you know, that do everything in forty minutes thing he has - I’ll be quick and then I’ll come back and help you if you need but I thought, better tonight when we’ve not been busy…"

Jongkook very much hopes it’s his own pointed glare which forces Hoseok to wind down his sentence. He talks so much, and so uselessly. “Close your own station,” Jongkook snaps, and shoulders past him. It had been quiet, and the dispense bar is half-clean already, but point had been going up until the last minute and it’s a disaster area: limp, damp pieces of fruit and mint strewn everywhere; an open bottle of juice lying on its side in a sticky puddle; the spirit bottles splattered with syrup.

"Ah, come on." Hoseok’s trying to wheedle him, sneaking up to press his fingers into Jongkook’s shoulders which he jerks away from. "Don’t be an ass, man, I need to have this down by tomorrow, you know it’s gonna be busy and if I fuck it up for everyone - "

"You made that mess, you can clean it up. Cleaning the coffee machine isn’t fucking rocket science." He turns his back, plunging the scoop into the remains of the ice and very much wishing it was Hoseok’s face he was jabbing into. Behind him he hears tapping feet and can imagine the pointed, pissed off look on Hoseok’s face. Steam hisses from the hot tap as Jongkook throws scoop after scoop of ice under it. One comment, he thinks, just one fucking comment.

"Look, I know you’re pissed off about getting stuck on dispense every night, but it’s not my fault where Sejoon puts us - obviously he thinks you work better here - "

There’s his one comment. Boiling water splashes upwards as Jongkook drops the scoop into the sink and rounds on Hoseok. “Don’t try to fucking patronise me, I’ve been here more than a year. I fucking know how things work.”

The pained look of diplomacy disappears from Hoseok’s face and the gleam of spitfire spite shines in his eyes. “With your attitude I’m not surprised no one wants you in front of customers.”

"I don’t have ‘an attitude’, you just piss me off! Fucking throwing your tins around like that and showing off, while we’re over here busting our asses - "

"I would have let you take over if you wanted," Hoseok snaps, and Jongkook strains not to shove him into the coffee machine.

"What the fuck do you mean, let me? If I wanted to I would have, I’m the goddamn shift leader tonight, remember?”

"Yeah, some fucking leader you were - you didn’t speak to me once all night!"

"Well I don’t expect to have to babysit the fucking golden boy," Jongkook sneers. The way Hoseok’s face changes then - hardening into something triumphant, like he’s caught Jongkook out - has Jongkook jerking forward, fists trembling at his side.

Hoseok doesn’t step back, although there’s a quaver in his shoulders like he’s stopping himself. “I get it,” he says. Jongkook didn’t know that bubbly voice could find such a steely edge, and he’s somewhat shaken by it. “You’re jealous. You think I haven’t paid my dues or some shit.”

"I just think you’re a huge pain in the ass," Jongkook starts to fire back, but the rapidly churning feeling in his gut tells him Hoseok’s got the upper hand and knows it. The blood drains out of his knuckles as he tightens his fists and Hoseok shakes his head with his mouth pulled into a derisive pout.

"You really can’t stand that I’m already just as good as you - wow, I knew you could be petty but I didn’t know you could be this pathetic - “

A tidal wave of soapy water hits Hoseok right in the face. Jongkook drops the empty bucket to the floor and has a single second of utter victory, watching Hoseok splutter and paw at his eyes.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Yuhwan’s expression is devoid of its usual cheeriness. He looks mad - really mad - and when Yuhwan gets mad it’s so rare it becomes twice as terrifying. It’s exactly his luck, Jongkook thinks, and it makes his rage boil over because now he’s going to get the blame for everything. Hoseok’s already assuming an aggravated air, readying himself to act the innocent angel. At least his annoying quiffed up hair is destroyed and sagging lank across his face; he looks like a half-drowned horse.

Yuhwan looks between the two of them, cold as a dead fire in a stone grate. “He was trying to shove off his station on me,” Jongkook begins lamely, indicating the still-wrecked point bar.

"He was being a jerk, it’s not my fault if I’m naturally good at my job," Hoseok cuts in. Jongkook scoffs at the whine in his words. So much for standing his ground and clawing back; enter a figure of authority and of course Hoseok rolls over and plays the defenseless child. He waits for Yuhwan to soften, probably ruffle Hoseok’s sodden hair and turn his fury solely on Jongkook for daring to upset the poor baby.

Yuhwan takes a deep breath in through his nose. His frozen posture and unblinking eyes radiate fury, and Jongkook begins to feel guilty just for causing this change, although every twinge of guilt is alleviated by a quick look at the soap suds in Hoseok’s eyebrows. “I don’t care,” Yuhwan says, very slowly and deliberately, “who started it. If you two can’t get along and behave like adults, then I’ll find a way for you to work through your differences. Together.” Hoseok looks at Jongkook, outraged, and Jongkook glares right back, hoping he has ‘fuck off’ scrawled on his face. “Since you’ve already soaked the floor, you can get the rest of it just as soapy. Deep clean. Both of you.”

"What - !"

"But hyung - "

"I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you until this whole place is spotless," Yuhwan snaps, and both the bartenders cringe back. "You’ll stay here all night if you have to." He brushes past both of them without another word, collects the till and stalks off, shoulders high, and only when he’s safely at the bottom of the stairs do they let out their breath.

"This is so unfair!"

"Shut the fuck up. This is your fault." Jongkook picks up the empty bucket and goes to refill it with Hoseok in hot pursuit making a variety of choking noises to indicate his disbelief.

"My fault? You were the one being an unnecessary dick to me, I was trying to be friendly!” He hangs back against the ice machine, sulking. “I can’t hang around here all night, I’ve got practise tomorrow.”

"You’d better stop bitching and get on with it then."

They finally stagger out, limp-armed and aching, at around half three. Yuhwan, refreshed and softened from a power nap in the office, locks up behind them and shakes his head at their shifty, sheepish faces. “Feeling a bit more able to work together like adults?”

"Yes," Hoseok says, stubbing the toe of one shoe against the ground. Jongkook sinks his hands into his coat pockets and shrugs.

"Yeah."

"If I catch any of that silly behaviour again, you’ll be in for a disciplinary." Buckling his cycle helmet on, Yuhwan looks over the pair of them one more time. It’s a testament to his good nature that he doesn’t leave them without a smile. "Safe journey home. Sleep well."

His bike lights flash around the corner and Hoseok slumps against the wall of the building with a ragged groan. “Fuck deep cleaning. Fuck it in every concievable hole.” Jongkook’s fumbling his tobacco pouch out of his pocket as an excuse not to talk, but he glances up as he retrieves it and notices this square, sideways look Hoseok’s giving him. He lifts his eyebrows and Hoseok sighs, wriggles in an irritated sort of way. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Not for being good at my job, but - I get it, like, we had this guy join our dance troop once, he’d been there like two weeks and they were putting him at the middle of all the formations, and it sucks when you’ve worked hard and someone comes in and sails through it. So.”

He rolls his eyes away, snapping off his sentence. Jongkook blinks down into his tobacco and grinds his back teeth together. The voice in his head telling him to be mature sounds horribly like Sejoon, and that makes it impossible to ignore. The deep cleaning had sucked but Hoseok hadn’t whined about it once, and when he came across a couple of beers under his station which had been returned unopened, he’d left one at Jongkook’s elbow without a word. Jongkook thinks about their short-staffed Christmas and how they’d been close to much worse than chucking buckets of water at each other at times, when everyone had worked ten days in a row, and how Sejoon was finally going to be able to take his thoroughly earned holiday, now they had a good team together. “A team I can rely on,” he’d said at their most recent staff meeting, beaming round at them.

Resignation rolls through him. “Nah. I - I’m sorry as well. It’s not your fault you rub me up the wrong way, it’s just…a personality thing, I guess.”

"It’d be nice if we could get along," Hoseok says. "I don’t want to make a bad atmosphere."

Jongkook rolls a cigarette slowly while he thinks about getting along with Hoseok. “It’s worth a try.”

Hoseok lifts his shoulders off the wall then, looking relieved and rubbing his hands together. “Cool. I’ll try to tone it down a bit if you stop being snarky with me.”

"Deal." He licks the paper, seals the cigarette and looks up and down the road. The street is deserted with the moon hanging low in the sky and lights glimmering in the tower blocks either side. It’s cold, but never too cold to grab a drink on the way home. "Want to get a beer?"

"Oh man, I’ve got to get home, I’ve got practise - "

"Come on," Jongkook says, lighting up with a wicked smile. "Don’t be a pussy. You just said you wanted to try getting along."

"You just said you’d stop being snarky with me," Hoseok says. He grins and follows Jongkook to the late night cornershop.


	25. Big Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a not-altogether-protesting Taewoon ends up with a lap full of HopeMin.

No matter how busy their work gets, or how many rave reviews are written about the place, there is one thing that will never change. Once a month, on a Saturday, the entire restaurant is shut down - closed for service - and every staff member congregates at someone's house to dance, hang out, play video games and get very, very drunk. 

These nights are, of necessity, a giant slobbering mess. There's a lot of steam to work off, a lot of poor decisions to be made. Old fights started on the floor are settled over vicious games of Street Fighter; anyone who wouldn't normally drink so much is forced to, just to deal with how wasted everyone else is; Jiho and Kyung invariably turn up with a couple of friends from their music scene who wander around offering suspicious pills to everyone. Sungmin gets sick in the toilet after the first hour, Yukwon and Yoongi find the smallest room and smoke it out like a filthy oven, and Yuhwan gives up on trying to keep everyone under control and does vodka shots in the kitchen. 

As one of the older members of staff there - both in age and years of service - Taewoon knows somewhere at the back of his fuzzy head that he should be trying to stay a little bit sober, and keep an eye on the younger ones, but Taewoon's never been great at refusing beer, and he happens to be sat right next to the cooler. It's highly inviting, slender bottle necks clustered like pretty shrubs in a flowerbox, and he's going to remain sat there for as long as he's got a good view of the television. The music's loud, but not quite as loud as Jihoon's shrieking every time his screen avatar gets KO'd by Seokjin's. In the corner Kyung is standing with crossed arms, too intent on drooling over the pretty chef to listen to whatever Jiho's barking into his ear. Taewoon snorts a little bit at that. Usually by this stage of the evening Kyung's sitting almost on top of him, as if they don't have an entire sofa to use, slurring something about how he's the greatest hyung in the whole restaurant, but the novelty of Seokjin's good looks and Jiho's ratty mood have conspired to keep Kyung away.

Settling himself further back into the couch - they're at Jungwoo's place tonight, and all of his furniture is of the kind that looks capable of swallowing a person, perfect for sinking into in a woozy daze - Taewoon fumbles his phone out, going to text Jungwoo and see how much longer he'll be with the tequila. A wave of sweet smelling smoke wafts over the room as the door to the hotbox opens and shuts, but Taewoon doesn't look up until a wobbling shadow falls across him.

He glances up, noting Jimin's damp upper lip and reddened eyes, shaking his head. "What have you been up to Chimmy?" he says, trying to sound disapproving but mostly just finding it funny, the way Jimin's swaying from foot to foot with this foolish little smile on his face. Jimin screws up his face and blinks down, then without warning sits himself heavily on Taewoon's left thigh.

Great, Taewoon thinks, forced to throw an arm around Jimin's back to stop him from toppling straight off again. He reeks of pot, and he's mashing his lips together like his teeth have all fallen out. He leans in way too close, uncomfortably warm under his tank top, and Taewoon just holds back a groan because really, why always him? 

"Min Yoongi," Jimin breathes, like this is some big secret, "is a bad man."

"You are fucked," Taewoon says, but Jimin's voice is dried to a crisp and there's no water to hand so he offers over his beer bottle, tries not to shove the kid off him when he slops it down his chin. "You are really fucked, kid."

"It's Yoongi's fault," Jimin says, gasping after his swig of beer. He looks all wide-eyed and plaintive at Taewoon. "He said he wouldn't roll it strong but he rolled it really strong and now I'm dizzy, can I have a beer?" He says this all in one long slurred noise, and Taewoon stops listening halfway through because as Jimin speaks he squirms himself around where he's seated until his ass is right at the top of Taewoon's thigh and his arm is around his neck. "I wanted to come here because you're always so nice to me so I thought you'd give me a beer, Kwonnie wouldn't give me one. My throat is dry."

That's why it's always him, Taewoon remembers. He remembers this every time he has a small drunk boy plastered against his side (which happens a surprising amount) and he curses his own terrible flirtatious ways but he never remembers these moments when they're at work and Jimin's cleaning tables with his firm little butt sticking in the air. It just seems natural then to give it a good slap, just like it's always been natural for him to grab Kyung around the waist and heft him into the air, just to listen to him shriek. It's not that he wants to do anything with them - they're just kids, after all, and it would be unprofessional - but they're tiny and cute, and Taewoon's got a horrible weak spot for that kind of thing. 

Besides, he thinks as Jimin manages to curl his calves around Taewoon's and leans back against his shoulder, certain boys in particular really seem to love that kind of attention.

Much against his better judgement he picks a beer from the cooler, jaws it open and hands it over. "Take it easy. You're screwed if you need to puke, Minnie's pretty much booked the bathroom out for the rest of the evening." Jimin doesn't seem to be listening, too busy remembering how to drink from a bottle. He gets it mixed up with fellatio for a good twenty seconds, and Taewoon has to look away. 

He regrets looking away. Looking away from Jimin means he ends up looking directly at Hoseok. Hoseok, he has found from their nights out, is Jimin's more conscious, less inhibited partner in crime. He's the one who initiates the drunken bump and grind on the dance floor; he's the one who's convinced Jimin on not one but three separate occasions to take his shirt off at the end of a shift. Taewoon doesn't know if the two boys were friends before they started working together, but with very little effort Hoseok's managed to get Jimin wrapped neatly around his bony fingers. And if Jimin is an unintentional tease, with his hard lines covered by soft flesh and innocent face, Hoseok - outlined in the doorway to the kitchen all hooded eyes and beer dangling from one hand, hips canted to the side like a suggestion - is fully aware of what he's doing.

Taewoon just groans, accepting that he's in for it the moment Hoseok approaches. Why these two have picked him and Jungwoo out specially as the favourite objects of their double act, he doesn't know, and he's not going to pretend to himself he doesn't enjoy it, in the strangest of ways, but he's drunk and Jimin is heavy, and Hoseok plants himself neatly on the other thigh like it's no big deal.

Yuhwan's just over in the kitchen, he has to remind himself. Yuhwan would kill him if he let this develop. The tequila will be here soon and all of this will go away.

In one supple movement Hoseok slings one arm around Jimin's waist, the other around Taewoon's shoulders, and drags his hips forward so that all three of them are pulled into a damp, boozy huddle. His thighs pinch on either side of Taewoon's leg, too tight to give any credence to his innocent tone. "Jiminy," he croons, "you smell like Yoongi-hyung." He's slurring his words a little, but Taewoon can tell from the glint of his eyes and the tip of his tongue dancing across his teeth that he's not half as drunk as he's pretending to be.

Hoseok leans forward, cushions his forehead against Taewoon's shoulder and paws at Jimin's lower lip as the other boy mumbles something and tries to shift himself. "You fucking kids are going to put me in an early grave," Taewoon says, already slipping his arm around Hoseok's skinny waist.

"You love it," Hoseok replies. His eyes are as quick as his voice, and Taewoon shakes his head again, almost impressed by how sly he can be.

"I feel sick." Jimin tips his head back further, rolls into Taewoon's chest. "Hyung, don't be mad at me if I'm sick?"

"We'll look after you." Back to that crooning voice, Hoseok smooths a hand over Jimin's hair and his breath tickles under Taewoon's jaw. "Right hyung?" he adds in a whisper. Taewoon doesn't really mean for his hands to tighten on Jimin's thigh and Hoseok's waist but they do anyway.

The front door opens and crashes shut, and there's the familiar sound of Jungwoo falling over his own furniture and swearing. He appears in the living room head-first, a stumbling vision of crumpled shirt and squinting eyes, clutching black plastic bags to his chest. "Tequila!" he hollers, and then refocuses his eyes at the sofa. Taewoon looks up over Hoseok's head, tries to shrug with just his eyes since both of his shoulders are being used as pillows. Jungwoo sounds faintly impressed when he says, "Bro," and comes over to dump the beers in the cooler. He looks for a second like he's going to sit down on the sofa but instead backs away. "Good luck with that, dude."

Hoseok shifts up closer, glaring at Jungwoo over his shoulder; Jimin sighs again and nuzzles his cheek into Taewoon's shirt. "Taewoon-hyung's gonna look after us," he says, his voice all weak and whimpery, and Jungwoo watches Taewoon press his eyes tight shut and the smirk break out on his face.

"I'm sure he will," Jungwoo says. He doesn't need to run away. Taewoon hasn't got a free arm or leg to hit him with anyway.


	26. Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Some of the adventures and misadventures of slutty Taeha."

It’s eight in the morning. Taeha’s slumped against the bar, digging his fingertips into the inside corners of his eyes so the dull throb of that sort of balances out the dull throb at his temples. His mouth is drier than the inside of the pastry oven and tastes like Taewoon’s feet after a Friday night shift. The buzzing of the lights and the gentle clatter of cutlery from the waiter’s station behind him sound more like an entire marching band playing directly into his ear.

"Hungover?"

Someone finally steps behind the bar and gives a sympathetic tut at the sight of Taeha’s pathetic figure. “Capital ‘H’,” he mumbles.

The someone makes a chirpy, understanding sort of noise, and a few moments later an icy glass of water is pressed into Taeha’s limp hand and the coffee machine rumbles into action. It’s only when he’s peeled his eyes open enough to take a drink that he realises the lithe, dark-haired figure is not one he’s seen behind the bar before. The new guy turns around, a steaming cup of that sweet life-giving nectar in one hand, and his eyebrows pop up at the same time Taeha’s head tips to one side in disbelief. He’s not seen him here before, but he’s far from unfamiliar.

 

Cut to a month or so ago, in the dank, dripping bathrooms of some dive bar in the nastier part of town, the kind of place you ended up in when it was late enough that your choice was there, or a casino. Since neither he nor any of his friends had the money to waste at a casino, it was the dive bar they pitched up at once all the decent places had shut for the night. Besides, Jungwoo told him in words so slurred he could only half-gather what he was saying, dive bars were better for picking up girls because - something something, cheap drinks, and then Jungwoo had stopped to retch into a nearby bin. How he and Taewoon thought they were going to pick anyone up when they could hardly pick themselves up off the pavement remained a mystery. Taeha left them, as was usual for these nights, propped up against the bar daring each other to drink ever more ridiculous concoctions of spirits. Taeha, only half as drunk as them and still twice as good at dancing, estimated he had another forty minutes left before they’d haul him into a taxi, which probably gave him about an eighty percent chance of hooking up that evening.

The guy was lanky in that narrow, beanpole sort of way, which was hot except that his fingers were just as bony and bit into Taeha’s shoulders in a way he knew would leave bruises. He tugged at Taeha’s hair without demand, and his knees bulged under Taeha’s hands as he came. He might have stuck around for a bit more - the way the guy’s bottom lip trembled on a moan, and his damp eyes as he said, “you’re - that was - incredible” was just enough of a boost to his ego to consider staying - but then he’d pulled Taeha to his feet and tried to kiss him before he’d had a chance to empty his mouth, and the deal was off. He elbowed him away and spat into the toilet.

"Can I - can I see you again?"

Taeha just rolled his eyes between the guy and the lock of the cubicle door. He never really had to say anything; his deadpan look did it all. He waited until he heard the outer door slam before he stepped outside himself.

The bathroom was dull and grimy, florescent lights buzzing, mirrors cracked and spotted with grease. Taeha rubbed a stripe clean with the side of his hand, enough to fix his hair in. There was one other guy there, also fixing his hair, eyes half-lidded at himself in the mirror and his hips popped off to one side. His lower lip had that telltale red raw pout to it, and Taeha recalled the thuds on the cubicle wall which had not come from the clinging hands of his own conquest. He glanced across, grinned.

"Good night?"

"A little dull." The other guy finished with his hair and swiped his thumb along his bottom lip, air-kissing his reflection. "Same old." He winked at Taeha, tugged on the collar of his jacket and left.

"Same old," Taeha muttered to himself as he checked his phone to find ten increasingly unreadable texts from Taewoon asking where he’d disappeared to and if he would come and help because he thinks Jungwoo is in a coma.

 

"You go there a lot?"

Taeha should be downstairs by now prepping the kitchen for breakfast, but he’s pretty sure Taehyung knows sort of what he’s doing, and anyway, he expects the guests will want their breakfast without vomit, which is only a possibility if he stays perfectly still for maybe five more minutes. The dark circles spinning in his vision are beginning to recede, and he manages a tiny sip of coffee. “Only when there’s absolutely no other option. So like, once or twice a week, maybe.”

The new bartender - Hoseok, Taeha remembers from Sejoon’s long and boring spiel about his new recruits - nods sagely. “It’s gross in there but you can’t deny it’s like dick on tap most evenings. It’s not even a gay bar, I swear guys must just hand the address around like, if you’re curious…”

"I’m not sure about that. Even Taewoon gets hit on in there every fucking time." Taeha doesn’t mention that this is usually because him and Jungwoo spend most of their drunken evenings snuggling against each other’s shoulders, but he’s somewhat gratified to hear the noise of disbelief from Hoseok.

"Is - is he not…?" Taeha snorts, and regrets it as his head pounds. Hoseok grins as well, but he looks genuinely confused. "He’s not, like - I thought he had this weird thing with Jungwoo - ?"

Taeha doesn’t feel up to explaining the highly nuanced and peculiar friendship that exists between those two, so he spreads his hands against the bar, preparing to push himself upright, and shrugs. “They’re just friends. Very good friends.”

"The kind of friends who make out on nights out?" Hoseok says dubiously.

"Exactly that kind."

"Man, this place is confusing as hell." Giving up on cutting fruit, Hoseok leans his head and arms against the bar, just next to where Taeha’s resting his own forehead. The marble bar top is cool and soothing. "Everyone acts queer as hell most of the time, how am I supposed to figure out who’s actually up for something and who’s just playing around?"

"Wait until they get drunk."

 

The view of Taewoon from where he was clinging around his waist was strange, shifting and blurred in his vision. His full lips were damp from moments earlier, and Taewoon had blinked down at him and curled those lips into a smile which was too affectionate for Taeha’s liking. The Christmas lights glittered and spun behind his head as he bent down and prised Taeha’s arms away from him.

"Oh, okay, I understand," Taeha monotoned, stumbling back with sulky folded arms. "You’ll happily slap my ass every fucking time you come into the kitchen - "

"It’s different," Taewoon said, and he slumped into the nearest seat and made a waving sort of motion with his hand which, although it meant literally fucking nothing, somehow gave Taeha to understand what he was referring to. "It’s not a good idea," Taewoon finished after a long, heavy pause, and he had to agree.

And there had been Sungmin that night, as flushed and softly sweetly pretty as he always was, letting himself be climbed all over and manipulated with clever hands. Taeha always enjoyed the way he said his name, hitching and heaving on it like it was a breath he was trying to take.

 

When their shifts are over, he and Hoseok sit at the bar with a couple of beers, watching the waiters set up for the evening shift, which in this context apparently meant “chase a shrieking Jimin around the floor and try to slap him with damp cloths.” Taeha touches his fingers to his head and groans. His hangover has almost faded, but the noise richocheting off the walls would be enough to give anyone a headache. Capitulating at last, Jimin crashes to his knees and tries to call ‘uncle’ around the mouthful of wet fabric Kyung’s trying to jam into his mouth.

"You say to wait until they get drunk," Hoseok says, his eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. "But I’ve been drunk with Jimin like, five times now, and I’m still not sure. I mean, he’s all up for the pissed up dancing but the one time I suggested he come back to my place - "

"Jimin’s like, ten years old or something," Taeha says, although even he’s in doubt about this apparent innocence. Jimin spots them seated on the other side of the room and, without getting off the floor, flashes pleading eyes in their direction. "The problem with this place," he says, turning his back firmly on this indecent display, "is that it’s full of cockteasers. Even the ones who claim to be straight."

Like Yukwon, with his endless boring talk about his girlfriend, who somehow never missed an opportunity to skate his fingers over a bared inner arm if it was within reach. Like Kyung and Jiho, who everyone knew to be in some kind of semi-monogamous, semi-admitted relationship but who still tried to one-up each other about how many girls they’d hit on in the course of the evening. Like Taeha’s own fellow chef Minhyuk - he’d seen the pictures on Minhyuk’s phone, and more to the point he’d seen his dick, but Minhyuk met all enquiries about his sexuality with a silent smile and when he disappeared in the course of a night out, no one knew who he’d disappeared with.

So they all work in close quarters, and inevitably things are going to happen: they’re young men, and tensions run high, and often there just isn’t time to look outside of their own little world for someone else to satisfy a need. Taeha understands that; the last thing he’s looking for is commitment. But it gets tiring, the eternal grab-assery and innuendo which runs to nothing, which ends inevitably in awkward smiles and claims that, “I’m not…you know…not really, it’s just a bit of fun.” Just to ensure that he knows, for all their jokes and antics and drunken snogging, they’re not like him.

Kyung’s abandoned Jimin and is busy setting up the tables in front of the bar. He turns his infuriating smile on Taeha, slamming down plates in a way that screams, ‘I know you have a hangover and I’m doing this to be a dick’. “You look beautiful today, Taeha,” he coos. “Did you have a good night out?”

Hoseok makes a face which shows he clearly understands the disgust Taeha’s feeling at that moment, and although they’ve barely spoken despite moving in the same messy circles for what must be months, Taeha feels a rush of warmth towards him. Strange as it may seem, watching someone dab semen off their lower lip at three a.m. in the morning in a grotty toilet creates a sort of solidarity which holds even in the cold light of day. He and Hoseok are on the same team in more ways than one. “I guess the only reason Park Kyung doesn’t count as a cocktease is because no one wants his unwashed ass in the first place.”

"That’s pretty rich," Kyung says, "coming from the biggest cocktease in the entire building."

Taeha doesn’t even grant him the privilege of a full-blown glare, just slants his eyes at him over his shoulder with his mouth in a straight arrow of contempt. “I am not a cocktease,” he says. “I’m a slut. There’s a difference.”


	27. Let's Swing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: "Yuhwan is in an abominably good mood even for him and drags Jaehyo out on the floor to swing dance with him. Taewoon thinks it's hilarious and joins in instead, until Hoseok is like "move out of the way, peasants, let a real dancer show you how it's done."

The restaurant is free of customers and close to being sparkling clean. It’s that wonderful time of the evening when Yuhwan, coming up from the office with his hands splaying out like starfish to relieve the ache of being chained to a keyboard for the last hour, can look around his domain with a deep sigh of satisfaction. The shift ran to gleaming perfection that night: no arguments, no messed up orders, Jaehyo texting him with compliments left by customers every half an hour or more. With all the new staff, evenings like this have been few and far between. Yuhwan surveys the guys still hard at work, chattering and laughing as they clean up, the ones he’s known for years and the ones who have slipped into the life of the restaurant like they were made for the place.

"Done with the cash up, papa?" Jongkook yells from the bar, and indicates the beers waiting in a plastic box full of crushed ice in front of the bar. Yuhwan smiles, heads to pick one up and holds it out for Jongkook to crack open. "You’ve got that proud daddy smile on again," he says, making a face, but all the snidery in his tone can’t hide the affection.

"I am proud," Yuhwan laughs. "That was a great shift, everyone’s working so well together."

Jongkook pauses, dripping scouring pad in hand, to glance at his co-workers: Hoseok burbling a happy tune to himself as he cleans down the coffee machine, Sungmin wrestling clingfilm around the boxes of left over fruit. “I hate to sound cheesy, but I think we’ve got a really good team together here.” He dips his head back to work to hide the involuntary smile creeping onto his face, waving his free hand to shoo Yuhwan away. “Go on, piss off for a bit while we crack on. We all deserve a good drink.”

Sungmin pauses, quirks his head up. “We’re not supposed to be drinking yet?”

Yuhwan laughs and leaves Jongkook acting scandalised about the open beer at Sungmin’s elbow (” - you didn’t bother to get me one, that’s so rude!”). The lights have gone up properly, and someone’s cut the in-hours playlist short, replacing it with something bold and brassy. Despite how much he loves service, how satisfying it is to watch the restaurant run like clockwork and see his staff members busy and engaged and professional, this time of the night is perhaps Yuhwan’s favourite, a sentiment echoed by just about everyone. With the customers gone, the facade drops a little and they can all relax - have their beers, listen to their own music, shout back and forth with the easy vulgarity of a group of good friends. There’s familiarity in the air, the atmosphere of comfort that comes from people who know each other so well. Everyone likes to jokingly call Yuhwan ‘dad’ but he can’t help but think of them as a family, in some obscure way.

Necking some of his beer he performs a quick two-step past Kyung, slithering his arm around Kyung’s waist and nudging him back as Kyung tries to elbow Jaehyo away from the table he’s trying to clean. Jaehyo grunts, eyes glued to his phone, and steps one pace to the side. “Dad’s in a dancing mood,” Kyung says, and backs away with a grin.

"If you want to meet a nice girl, you’re going to have to learn how to dance," Yuhwan says, pretending to scold, and steps towards him. It’s old timey music, slick and swinging, and now he’s picked up the rhythm he can’t drop it. Kyung flees the scene, giggling. "Ahn Jaehyo," Yuhwan says instead, and Jaehyo blinks up from his phone. "You’re a charming young man, I’m sure you know how to dance." He sets his beer down and grabs Jaehyo’s wrist before he can protest, pulling him out onto the floor and forcing him into an awkward spin.

"Shit," Jaehyo splutters, trying to regain his balance and stumble away at the same time. "Be careful - you’re gonna make me drop my phone!" He pulls away hard and Yuhwan just grins, releases him but doesn’t stop doing the Charleston he’s fallen into.

"You’re no fun."

"Is it that time of the evening?" Absorbed in his jazz-hands, Yuhwan doesn’t notice Taewoon until he’s right up beside him, clasping him around the waist. He says into his ear, in that low, smooth voice he reserves mostly for people’s mothers and groups of middle aged women, "May I have the honour of this dance?"

Yuhwan lets himself be spun around, neatly avoids the misstep Taewoon makes and clutches his hands as the next song swells up: a rhythm that pounds a little faster than his heartbeat and makes his legs jitter and his hips twist. “Let’s swing it, daddy-o.”

The lights whirl overhead and the amber atmosphere, the deep red of the walls, the occasional flashes of the wait staff in their white jackets, all makes it feel like they’ve really stepped back in time. Taewoon’s not exactly a smooth dancer, but he picks up the rhythm well and follows Yuhwan’s lead as they pull away from the tables they’re careening precariously near to. Their heels squeak on the floor as Yuhwan takes a chance and puts his hands on Taewoon’s broad shoulders; without missing a beat Taewoon grabs Yuhwan’s skinny waist and heaves him off the floor, spins until Yuhwan collapses over one shoulder, gasping.

He staggers, his back hitting the stairpost, and Yuhwan lets out an involuntary yelp.

"Jesus, be careful you big idiot!"

Taewoon lowers him to the floor, face flushed, stretching out his arms. “Christ, I’m too old for this.”

Yuhwan cuffs him on the shoulder, trying to assume annoyance at the fact that Taewoon nearly sent them both tumbling to their doom, but a hundred pound weight wouldn’t be able to stop the grin stretching across his face. The music is still swooping, citrus streaks of brass and galloping percussion, and Yuhwan can’t stop jiving.

"Damn right you’re too old for this." The snotty tone at Yuhwan’s shoulder makes him spin round, ready to show these youngsters how well an old man can dance - he still remembers the few precious times he’d bust out his b-boy moves in front of an astonished group of younger employees, and the satisfaction at their round, disbelieving eyes - but it’s Hoseok in front of him, already matching him step for step. They’ve danced together before at the studio they both use, although never to music like this, but it doesn’t surprise him that Hobi can swing it as well as Jungwoo does when he’s had a few too many. Taewoon rubs a hand over his face and watches, shaking his head, and maybe Yuhwan’s a little out of breath by now but it’s so worth it for the approving whistles coming from behind the bar as they hop and swing out and skip up.

The song ends on a crash of cymbals and a long, thrilling groan of brass, and Hoseok throws himself in the crook of Yuhwan’s arm with one foot pointed. As soon as the last beat fades he crashes to the floor, saving Yuhwan the embarrassment of dropping him, and lets out that cackling laugh. “That’s how you do it,” he says, tipping his head back until he can see Taewoon, although Taewoon’s too doubled over with laughter to see him.

Yuhwan drags in a few breaths. He’s somewhat dizzy, aching where his back’s been stretched without warning, but the lights glimmer pleasantly in the cosy, cleaned up room, and the smiles sit wide on everyone’s faces. He takes the half-finished beer Kyung hands to him and drinks deeply. He lowers the bottle and finds everyone’s eyes on him, and he gets it: it feels like a moment that deserves commemorating. He looks around at the bright expressions, the familiar figures he’s got so fond of even though they spend half their time exhausting him, and he raises his beer to them. “You fucking kids,” he says, and his eyes get a little moist when they all cheer.


	28. Bet You Won't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: Yukwon and Yoongi - "we’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad here let me look after you"
> 
> Heavy themes of pot smoking.

Yukwon and Yoongi made friends on Yoongi's third shift, when he came up to the bar to beg a cigarette paper off someone and Yukwon handed over a crumpled packet of kingsize. Their eyes met with that glimmer of understanding, and that night when everything was closed down Yukwon nodded Yoongi towards the smoking area and sparked up. 

"You bring it next time," he said. "I like to know what other people are getting."

Yoongi had dragged hard, held the smoke down for a second and puffed it out through his nose with a wriggle of his chin like he was evaluating the taste. After a couple of lip smacks he nodded. "Sure. This is good but I reckon I can get something better."

That pretty much set the tone for their friendship. Yukwon had to admit that the stuff Yoongi turned up with a couple of nights later was truly mind-blowing, but that didn't mean he liked being outdone on his own turf. He'd hidden the effects pretty well, keeping his head dipped so Yoongi couldn't see that his eyes were hardly opened. Keeping his shoulders hard against the wall, he shrugged. "Yeah, this is nice."

"Only nice?" The outrage was palpable in Yoongi's voice. He held the joint between two fingers, a foot in front of Yukwon and watched him grope for it. "You can't see straight, admit it."

Yukwon pretended he hadn't heard him, or burnt his finger in retrieving the joint. He filled his lungs deep, releasing the smoke in one giant white puffball which dissipated, threadlike, against the small scrubby patch of sky they could see. It felt like a tidal wave of cotton wool was washing over his brain; the colours of the pollution haze above wavered and glimmered and he tilted his head back so far his shoulders slipped against the wall. "'M fine," he said, using his free hand to attempt to wipe the goofy smile off his face.

"Kay." There was a click from Yoongi's lighter as he relit the blunt, a hiss as he took his hit. "Then I dare you to go back inside and join in the conversation."

Yoongi was a new member of staff; he didn't realise that there was no threat in his dare. A little embarrassment, perhaps, when Sejoon took in Yukwon's reddened slits of eyes and lolling head, and just turned his attention back to his beer with a long suffering sigh - but it's not like he hadn't seen Yukwon like that before. Yoongi looked somewhat put out when Yukwon clambered up on the stool next to Jungwoo and received a gentle head pat and a coo of, "Ohh, did Kwonnie smoke too much pot again?"

And this is the thing, Yukwon already smokes too much pot, and being friends with Yoongi is not exactly going to do him any favours. But it's fun to be around someone who can handle it like he can, who won't get hyperactive and giggly like Jiho and Kyung, or just fall asleep like Sejoon has the couple of times Yukwon's cajoled him into giving it a try at their Saturday night parties. Minhyuk and Taeha can occasionally be persuaded to join in, but they tend to tap out after one or two of Yukwon's stronger offerings; they both like to keep themselves moderately alert, for their own personal reasons. 

Yukwon knows he and Yoongi are going to be good friends the first time they meet outside of work - a chance occurrence on the high street, Yukwon trying to find something for his upcoming anniversary, Yoongi getting a pair of headphones fixed - and somehow end up back at Yukwon's flat, having smoked enough to turn them into warm piles of sludge in the bathe of afternoon sunlight with no motivation to move until the reruns of shitty anime get replaced by the evening news and one of them has to get up to find the remote. They're probably a bad influence on each other, especially since they continually coax each other to take longer hits, harder hits, to push their smoke tricks to the absolute limit and construct bongs out of the strangest pieces of household junk (Hoseok tags along a few times and this part of their evenings is nearly always down to him; he's got a real knack for rigging something together out of a tupperware box and a plastic bottle) but they're always (usually) on time for work and most evenings Yoongi will leave with pages full of scribbled notes which Yukwon didn't see him making and isn't sure he'll be able to read later. It's not like they're being complete wasters. 

Sunhye would tell him if she thought he was going too far, anyway. They're just having fun. Even the strange rivalry is fun. When Yoongi turns up at his front door with a neon pink baggie and the kind of smile that sends Christian men howling for the church, Yukwon just grins and goes to get a pizza out of the freezer.

"It's called Raspberry, right," and Yoongi holds the bag out so Yukwon can smell the artifical fruit. "It's a destroyer, my guy swore to me. It's insane." He drops little pieces of the bud in the paper and Yukwon tries - he really tries - not to say anything, but it's like a verbal tic and it leaps out without warning.

"Yeah, bet it's not that bad. Those street dealers always talk their shit up like that." It's still a matter of pride to him that he's had the same dealer since high school, an old friend of his, while Yoongi - new to town - has to make his hook ups on street corners with whatever dodgy characters he can contact.

Yoongi looks from the joint he's rolling to Yukwon, who stares back with this "do your worst" expression because he knows Yoongi will and he's probably going to regret it.

"Go on then," Yoongi says, licking the paper and offering it over. "Dare you to smoke this whole one by yourself."

Thank God Sunhye has a couple of castings after work and won't be back until late. Yukwon gets halfway through the joint before his nonchalance dissolves. The high smashes through the back of his neck and skull and he feels like his eyeballs have been blown out of their sockets. He bears up through one or two more draws before his hands kind of disconnect themselves from his body and he melts back against the sofa.

Yoongi's voice is pleasantly slow motion, formed by a hundred humming bees: "Shiiiit..." 

Yukwon is very aware of two things: the hushing, rushing sound of blood in the back of his head and the reflection of the two of them in the television screen, all glossy and black and unmoving.

He's not really aware of much else for maybe another couple of hours or so, apart from a fluttering in his chest that might be his heart trying to escape. When the surface he's sitting on finally starts to feel solid again he dares himself to pry open his eyes. Swimming in his vision is the television with its ususal shitty anime, subs on and sound off, and a giant bottle of cola on the table. Yukwon has the throw from the armchair draped around him and a pillow propping his head up. Yoongi's at his side, shovelling quick cook rice into his mouth and flipping through his notebook.

"Shit," he says when Yukwon shifts beside him. "You're still alive. Good."

Yukwon peels the throw away from his damp shoulders and reaches for the cola. His hands are soggy as he fumbles at the cap. The crisp bubbles slice through the thickness on his tongue and throat. "Wow. Last time I get cocky about street drugs. Was I bad?"

"You went so white you were nearly green. Then you spent like, half an hour mumbling about ice floes and glaciers - I dunno, I thought you were cold, that's why I got the blanket. And then you sort of fell asleep and made these gurgling noises like you were choking." Yoongi takes the open bottle and has a swig himself. "I was almost ready to call an ambulance."

Despite his skull tingling all over and a nauseating headache beginning to pound right at the front of his brow, Yukwon finds room for laughter. The thought of Yoongi, half-stoned and panicking, waiting for hours beside his prone body, was amusing and more than a little touching. "Well. Thanks for not abandoning me to choke on my own vomit."

"Ehh." Now he's sure Yukwon's okay, Yoongi returns to his page of scrawls and his rice, grinning a pointed little grin. "I couldn't let you die, everyone'd be so pissed, and I need this job."


	29. It's My Birthday and I'll Bitch if I Want To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt: Taeha and Seokjin - "I used to be the best baker in the neighbourhood but then you showed up at Mrs Appleby’s 80th birthday with a stack of brownies which almost gave me an orgasm my honour is at stake and I’m going all out for the next event"

It's Yoongi's birthday. Taeha only knows this because Yuhwan rings everyone's birthday with a pink highlighter pen on the rota, whether they want him to or not. "Birthdays," he says, "are the perfect time to appreciate a team member for their unique contribution and hard work." Taeha suspects it's more to do with the fact that Yuhwan really likes cake, but that's neither here nor there. He waits with a suppressed groan for Taewoon to appear in the kitchen as soon as Taeil's not there and bully him into making something large and iced.

Taewoon does not appear, probably because Yoongi has had his best serial killer face on since the rota went up and has been answering all queries about his upcoming big day with a hearty, "Go fuck yourself." It seems that Yoongi does not want anyone to appreciate him for his unique contribution, and Taeha's just fine with that. Less work on his part, less potential eardrum damage from the screeching when he brings up his latest intentionally ugly efforts, and less chance of Yoongi snapping and beheading someone with a tray when Jungwoo and Taewoon attempt to give him the birthday bumps.

He's a bit curious when Seokjin hustles into the kitchen five minutes late, darting his eyes from side to side and clutching his rucksack to his chest. He pulls open the drawstring and takes out something suspiciously round in shape, wrapped in a plastic carrier bag.

"What's that?"

"It's a surprise," Seokjin says, looking so jittery and pleased with himself that Taeha sort of wants to puke up into the bean paste. "Can I leave it in the cold room?"

"Put it at the back of the shelves. If Taeil finds it, it's going straight in the bin." He still remembers the ruckus caused when Taehyung tried to hide some icepops in the freezer and Taeil had held them under hot running water in front of Taehyung's miserable face whilst gving him a ninety decibel lecture about health and safety standards and how he wasn't fucking ten years old anyway why did he need frozen sticks of tooth decay on hand all the time? 

Seokjin disappears for a moment, and when he comes back he's holding back his smile so furiously that Taeha doesn't ask, on purpose, just because he knows Seokjin really wants to spill and he's not going to give him the satisfaction. He's pretty sure he can guess what it is, anyway. He's pretty sure it's got something to do with the way Yoongi has been sidling around the kitchen recently, his ears going bright red every time Seokjin slips him a nice bit of whatever he's cooking. Minhyuk thinks it's sort of cute; Taeha finds few things more repulsive than puppy love. He'd only put up with Sungmin's timid little crush on him because the kid was so damn cute, and the way he'd appeal to Taeha for everything, from meal breaks to chopping techniques, gave him a little glow of satisfaction, especially when he saw the way it made Taeil's expression turn darker than squid ink.

Taeha's suspicions are proved right when they close for the night. As usual, everyone gathers at the long table by the bar, with Yuhwan conspicuous by his absence - probably busy sorting out the party poppers and hats which are going to be littered all over the unfortunate birthday boy. Yoongi's sitting with a beer in front of him when Taeha exits the kitchen. He looks glummer than ever, maybe something to do with the technicoloured shot Taewoon's trying to tip into his mouth.

"Come on, birthday boy! Sejoonie mixed this up specially for you!"

"It was my birthday yesterday, idiot," Yoongi grouches, nearly upending the neon liquid all over Taewoon's shirt. "I asked for it off deliberately so I wouldn't have to deal with this shit."

"Don't be a party pooper," a tipsy Sungmin says, wagging his finger. They must have started drinking early behind the bar; Taeha finds himself looking a bit too long at the flush making its way down Sungmin's neck, wonders briefly if after a couple more beers his damp little mouth might be persuaded to open for something other than booze and baked goods.

"It's my party and I'll bitch if I want to," Yoongi's saying in a total monotone when the lights cut out and everyone goes into this awed hush. "Oh god." Yoongi's forehead hits the table with an impressive smack; Yuhwan, coming out of the office, slips a hand to Taeha's waist and hustles him out of the way. Sure enough, haloed in a haze of candle light and looking like he's just descended from heaven, Seokjin's inching his way towards them with the prettiest cake Taeha's ever seen. It's dark and moist at the bottom and crowned with creamy swirls and chocolate flakes, and Taeha can't even agree with his own spiteful instinct to say it must have been shop bought because this cake just fucking screams 'efforts of Kim Seokjin'.

Everyone launches into 'Happy Birthday' as Seokjin sets the plate on the table and puts one hand on Yoongi's shoulder, beaming down at him like he doesn't even notice the daggers in Yoongi's eyes. Taeha just groans and dives into the cooler for a beer of his own. The cake says "happy birthday Yoongi" across the top in elegant letters. Even Sungmin is more interested in the cake than in Taeha, leaning on the table right beside him. He doesn't need to watch them cut the thing and start eating to know what's coming.

"Hot fucking damn," Taewoon says, succinct as always and spluttering crumbs all over Sejoon's white shirt. Yuhwan's got his eyes closed, looking like he's close to orgasm.

"If I could eat cake like this every day of my life, I would never be sad again."

Even Yoongi's cracking a reluctant smile as he eats, and Seokjin's gone all pink and pleased. Taeha takes the paper plate he's offered, gracefully ignoring Jongkook's comment about how, "Some people actually make an effort, that's good to know."

"You're the real expert here," Seokjin says, nibbles on his bottom lip like he's actually nervous about Taeha's feedback. Taeha picks off the smallest piece he can, shoves it in between his teeth, and even his powers of denial aren't enough to pretend that the smooth, rich taste that spreads in his mouth is anything other than fucking divine.

He lets out a long breath once he's swallowed. "Fuck." And Seokjin's smile bursts across his face again and Taewoon and Sejoon cackle because they know exactly why Taeha looks so defeated and pissed off even as he eats what might be the best chocolate and raspberry sponge ever fucking baked.

Before he leaves, Taeha slips into the office and runs through the empty timetables until he finds the next date circled with a little pink heart. Even Yukwon's delightful girlfriend, he decides, is not going to give him an orgasm like the cake Taeha's going to bake.


	30. You've Worked Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to pay tribute to SPEED’s fucking awesome comeback than with a new installment of the Speed Bar and Grill! Please enjoy, and please support SPEED and love them with all your gross heart!
> 
> In which Yuhwan is a sick boy and Jungwoo gets royally reamed.

"God, it's Biblical out there." Water scatters across the floor as Jungwoo shakes his head and drags his coat off. His voice echoes in the empty reception area. Across the floor he can see a testament to how filthy the weather is: only two or three occupied tables in the whole restaurant and Yoongi propped up at the bar, keeping one eye on the customers while he chats with Sungmin. "Quiet morning, huh?"

At the front desk Jaehyo pauses whatever game he's playing on his phone and shrugs. "Dead. I only just got here and I'm already bored."

"Yuhwan in the office?"

"Yeah." Jaheyo dips his head back to his phone and then glances back up like he's forgotten something. "Hey, is he okay? He looks rough as hell."

Nudging Jaehyo aside with a damp hand so he can flip through the bookings diary, Jungwoo expresses with a jerk of his mouth just what he thinks of their manager's state of health. "He's being a prick about it as usual. Swear I'm gonna tape him down to his bed until he gets better." Two of the night's reservations already have impatient red lines sliced through them. Jungwoo clicks his tongue, pats Jaehyo on the back and ignores the irritated wriggle. "Hey, fingers crossed, you might get an unexpected night off."

"You're dripping on the time sheets," Jaehyo sniffs, elbowing him aside.

"You're dripping on my vibe," Jungwoo returns lazily. He knows it doesn't make any sense, and turns his back on Jaehyo's eye-rolling, heading for the office with a quick shout of greeting to the boys at the bar.

He'd closed the night before, but Yuhwan had opened, so it's a jolt to find their shared space in the same disarray as he'd left it. Yuhwan's pawing through the flooded in-tray with one hand and stemming the flow from his nose with the other. There are used tissues in gross flourishes all around his chair, the pen pot and telephone attended by rows of squat, sticky bottles of cough syrup. Jungwoo stands in the doorway for a count of five trying to tamp down his exasperation as his friend turns mournful, red-rimmed eyes on him and makes a heartbreaking attempt at a smile.

"Still not better?" His tone expresses absolutely no surprise. Yuhwan's 'little cold' had been getting steadily worse for two weeks, driven by a combination of rotten weather and his own total refusal to take a sick day. All the potions he'd been dosing himself with had only tinkered with an already unstable sleeping schedule. This time yesterday he'd been collapsed over the keyboard, scheduling shifts for someone called "kkkkkkkkkk". He'd sworn up and down that he'd stay home the next day if he wasn't better.

"I feel a - a bit better," Yuhwan says. He can't make it through the sentence without a hacking cough that shakes his whole torso. Jungwoo chucks his coat on a spare chair to hide his aggravated sigh.

"You're such a fucking liar." The waxy light of the desk lamp throws shadows around Yuhwan's hollowed out eyes and cheeks, each cough pulling the skin tight over his bones. He can't even muster an argument, only huffs out a breath as Jungwoo presses the back of one hand to his forehead. He's as cold and clammy as the pavements outside. "Dude, you are really fucking sick."

Yuhwan shuts his eyes for a long moment, lolling to one side in his chair in some act of surrender. "I know."

"You need to go home. And to a doctors."

"I know, but I can't - " The hand he waves at the piles of paperwork and the still-blank rota open on the computer turns into a kind of open-handed, 'what now' gesture, which in turn drops away when Jungwoo musters the most serious expression he's capable of and shakes his head. "Jungwoo - "

"Yuhwan." Taking one of the hands now lying limp on Yuhwan's thigh, he pulls him to his feet and sees his knees give under him a little. He swallows down a noise of fright and frustration and puts all his worry into making his voice as soothing and sensible as possible. "You have me around for a reason, right? I'll take care of it, honestly. You can hardly stand. You're no use here right now. Please, just go the fuck home and look after yourself."

For a horrible moment Yuhwan pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, looking like he might cry, but it's just the dark circles throbbing under his eyes. Then the shaky resolve in his expression crumbles and without warning he tips himself against Jungwoo, resting his forehead against one shoulder. "Oh God. Okay, you're right. I really do feel rotten."

"There, there." Jungwoo strokes down his spine, eyeing the desk over Yuhwan's shoulder and trying to estimate how much of it he can foist off on Jaehyo. Yuhwan's trembling and bony, breathing laboured; it's with some reluctance that Jungwoo eases him away, reaching out for the black peacoat hanging on the back of the chair so he can drape it around Yuhwan's shoulders. "You know the boys hate to see papa like this. Take a few days off, get well again. We'll be fine, I absolutely promise."

He bundles Yuhwan into a taxi, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the worry begin to melt out of his face. He just hopes he makes it home without falling asleep. Then, dodging inside out of the hammering rain, he returns to the office, rolling his shirt sleeves up in preparation for the gathering of a hundred snotty tissues.

With the room in a state that Jungwoo would call a 'tidy mess', he's just pulling himself up to the desk to start on the rota when the office door opens. Sejoon slips in, neat and particular as always in the white shirt which will be speckled with darker spots by the end of the evening. "How was the stew?" he says by way of greeting. He'd left a portion of his dinner on the stove for Jungwoo.

"Yeah, good, cheers." Jungwoo leans back in his chair and flips through the pile of bar invoices Sejoon's handed him. "Finally got Yuhwan to take a few days off."

"Finally." Sejoon sounds as amused and exasperated as Jungwoo feels. "I've been expecting him to drop dead the last week. How long's he off for?"

"I said, until he gets better." It's not often Jungwoo can get their manager to go against his own judgement, and he can't help but feel a little glow of self-satisfaction. Yuhwan has a special brand of very quiet, entirely polite pigheadedness which Jungwoo can't usually muster the strength to battle through. Even though Yuhwan was in a weakened state, he's still proud he stood his ground. "And it had better be too, if he tries to drag himself in still snotting everywhere I'm gonna kick his diseased ass."

Sejoon hides a snort with a discreet cough. "Well, please enlist my help if you need it. It's going to be a difficult week."

Flapping at him with the invoices, Jungwoo spins the chair back to face the computer, beginning to fill in the hours for the wait staff. "Your confidence is really fucking appreciated man. I'll be fine, seriously - it's all paperwork, you know. You guys know what you're doing, this place practically runs itself now."

He becomes uncomfortably aware, in the awkward pause that follows, that Sejoon knows something that he doesn't. It's with a sinking stomach that he spins back to face him, and it only sinks further when he sees the furrowed eyebrows and apologetic mouth. "We're three people short, I thought you knew? Taewoon and Jiho have gone to stay with their dad for a week. And Yukwon's on holiday as well, he'll be gone 'til Saturday."

Jungwoo's brain sort of shuts down at this point and refuses to accept this information. All he can hear is a resounding barrage of fuck words stampeding through his head.

"Hey," he hears when he regains full consciousness. Sejoon's waving a concerned hand in front of his face. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Fuck," he says reflexively, and then, "Fuck." His eyes travel around the office like there's something here that will help him, some long-forgotten back up staff member they'd packed away into a cupboard, or a magic Yuhwan-curing potion they might have overlooked when they turned out the medicine cabinet for something that would stop him from sneezing all over the desk. Nothing stands out except Sejoon's crisp white shirt and an overlooked tissue wedged under his foot.

"I'm sure it'll be fine?" The attempt at a positive tone is possibly more painful than if Sejoon had just handed in his notice there and then. With reality settling over him like a terrible hangover, Jungwoo claws his way back upright where he's slumped down in the chair, rubs a hand over his forehead and looks between the rota and the bartender a few times. 

"Okay," he says at last. "Okay. Here's what we'll do. Go get some money out of the till and go to the nearest supermarket. Buy as many bottles of lube as you can find." He slumps forward right as Sejoon starts laughing. "I'm gonna get reamed."

 

Monday is stock take day, and that's not too bad. The night before, Sejoon had taken the keys from Jungwoo with a firm assurance that he would see to opening up, and he sleeps in until eleven in preparation for the coming week of chaos. After a quick run to Yuhwan's flat - he lets himself in with the spare key, finds him in a burrow of duvet, dead to the world, and quietly departs, leaving a covered dish of take out on the kitchen counter - he gets to the restaurant for four pm. Monday is a quiet day, and the missing staff members won't tell too badly.

"Kind of works out for me, for once," Jongkook says, flickering his eyes around the bar with evident glee at being the most senior person behind it. "Chance to show I can handle a bit of responsibility, you know?" Jungwoo doesn't mention that he'd walked in to find Jongkook and Sungmin sword-fighting with bunches of mint - that's more or less normal behaviour even when Sejoon or Yukwon are around anyway. "Captain left the stock report here for you - sorry about the sticky bits, I was making syrups - and that's the order form for this week."

Jungwoo gathers up the damp sheets of paper, biting the insides of his lips so he doesn't smile at the way Jongkook's chest is puffed out. "Awesome, thanks a lot. You're running the bar shifts, when, today? And - "

"Tomorrow, Thursday and Friday morning, Saturday evening," Jongkook reels off. He mimes cracking a whip at Sungmin, who pretends to cringe away. "The reign of Shin Jongkook has begun! Bow down minion! Fetch me more ice!"

"I think you must have been a deposed king in a former life. Best of luck Minnie." Jungwoo leaves Jongkook driving Sungmin into the bar back area, wondering how Jongkook has failed in two years to learn anything from Sejoon's democratic, even-handed leadership.

 

Jungwoo unlocks the doors on Tuesday morning half an hour late, after a delayed bus and a long trudge in the unceasing rain. It's slowed to a drizzle now, the kind that creeps in freezing trickles down the back of your neck and shoes; Jungwoo's socks squelch with each step and his eyes are heavy from blinking away raindrops. He's gratified that at least one of his locked out staff members manages to greet him with a smile, but he doesn't think he's ever seen Jimin without a smile. The new bar dictator, however, stomps straight to the coffee machine without a word, the droop in his eyelids telling of his lack of sleep, and Taeha snaps his umbrella shut with far more force than necessary, showering Jungwoo with a fresh spray of water.

"Thanks a lot. I'll probably get a cold now. Then you'll really be fucked."

Jungwoo's stomach is empty, his eyes are still not fully open, and Taeha's pissed off tone is pitched just right to needle him. "Fuck it, we'll just buy in the desserts, no one will know the difference." 

Taeha sniffs hard at this, making a point of not rushing to the kitchen to start preparation for lunch. Jungwoo regrets his snide comment a few hours later, when he slips into the kitchen to pick up his staff food and Taeha keeps his back firmly turned on his wheedling tone.

"Come on man, help me out - help Yuhwan out, fuck, he's the one at death's door - "

"Just buy in some food for him, he won't know the difference."

"Dude, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean it. It'll only take a second, really."

"I've got plans tonight." Taeha slams a baking tray down on the counter and drops a ball of dough onto it, pummelling into it with his fists. Jungwoo is a hundred percent certain he's pretending it's his face.

"Getting drunk and doing cam shows doesn't count as plans," Minhyuk mutters as he takes up his position at the hob. The lump of dough Taeha punts at him hits the stainless steel with a wet noise. Jungwoo takes a deep breath in through his nose, cramming a forkful of rice into his mouth to relieve his agitation, and half of it shoots down his throat. 

Five minutes later, when he can breathe again and Taeha's worked out some of his injured pride by slapping him hard on the back several times, he cocks his head at a pleading angle and Taeha, a little red around the forehead, pouts out his mouth and makes a disgusted noise. "Ugh. Ughh, fine, fuck, I'll go." He fends off Jungwoo's attempts at a grateful hug, straightening out his white cap and turning back to the dough. "I'm not playing sick nurse though."

 

"It was weirdly adorable, actually." Yuhwan's voice still sounds thick and clogged up down the phone, but there's a bit more life in it, thank God. "He made me tea, even cleaned up a bit. I might have to give him that cat mug to say thank you."

"What, the hideous one with the tail as a handle?"

"Yeah, he really hated it." Jungwoo hears Yuhwan put the phone down and blow his nose, then the clunk of a cup on a surface before his voice resumes. "How's everything going?"

Jungwoo leans back enough to peer out of the office door, which he's left ajar while he steals enough time for this call. They're decently busy for a Wednesday evening. Kyung's hair is rumpled and his bottom lip bitten to bleeding after three days of marshalling the newer waiters around, but he has enough good humour to shoot finger pistols at Jungwoo as he passes. The orders for next week have gone through without a hitch, no one has spitefully over-spiced the staff food, and Jungwoo had even exercised a rare self restraint the night before and isn't hungover in the slightest. "It's good, yeah. Everything under control. Business as usual. Don't worry yourself."

"Good to know. The doctor said I should rest up for at least another couple of days, but - " Yuhwan's clearly put his hand over the phone but Jungwoo can hear his muffled coughing anyway. His voice is scratched raw when he speaks again. "Really, if you need me, I'll come in - "

"Don't even think about it." Outside the doorway Kyung reappears, his eyes gone from focused to frantic, beckoning ferociously. Jungwoo's pulse kicks up a notch and he just about strangles a groan. "Take care of yourself, okay? I've got to get back." He hangs up without waiting for a reply, and Kyung drags him upstairs by the sleeve at breakneck speed.

"Thirty people, fucking, thirty people, no reservation, and Namjoon's just gone ahead and seated them all like a fucking idiot, we're already almost at capacity - I'm gonna throttle the bastard, I swear, and Jihoonie's meant to be working their section and he hasn't got the first fucking clue - " 

As soon as they get back to the floor Jungwoo thinks he might fight Kyung for the right to throttle Namjoon, who's over by the waiter's station doing a lot of apologetic arm waving. The entire back area of the restaurant is crammed with bewildered tourists trying to untangle cameras and bag straps and find a seat, and Jihoon, in the middle of this flood, looks ready to cry.

It's times like this that Jungwoo is so grateful for having been there from the beginning. At any other place (he's heard from friends who work in these other places) all the managers would be able to do is run around apologising to the customers for the waiting times. Instead, Jungwoo turns up his shirt sleeves, digs in the cupboard for a spare ordering tablet, wraps an arm around Jihoon's shoulders to lead him to a quieter section, and dives into the fray.

That said, it's been a while since he's done any floor work, and he'd forgotten just how demanding it could be - especially with people who speak a different language and still for some reason think that the service ettiquette that applies in their home country will translate perfectly into this one. Four hours later, with the last of their sudden influx trickling out of the door, Jungwoo looks at the catastrophe they've left behind and stands for a solid minute swaying gently with exhaustion.

"I am so sorry," Namjoon's quavering voice begins, "I didn't even think - I mean - I thought you wouldn't want to turn away such a big group - "

"Well, it's awesome we didn't," Kyung snaps, shoving past Namjoon with a teetering stack of crockery. "They said they want to come back tomorrow."

The minute of therapeutic swaying has gone a little way towards calming his heart rate, so Jungwoo tugs the stiffness out of his shoulders and goes to gather plates, shooing Namjoon back as he tries to help. "Dude, it's fine. You were just doing your job. Kyungie's just stretched a bit thin at the moment. Listen, when you get a big group like that and we're already pretty full, you just try to get them to buy a drink first, you see? The bar can serve one at a time, so it's easier on them, and then the floor staff can get the tables ready in time." 

He lectures on for a little while, until Namjoon's lips stop trembling and he's back at the front desk with his service smile firmly in place. With the place beginning to empty out, Jungwoo heads to the bar for his fourth coffee of the day and a quick rest with his head on the counter.

 

Thursday is a day of annoyances. The stretched thin staff are beginning to show the effects of one too many late nights, and even the promise of extra-special staff drinks after work doesn't raise much of a smile. Something goes wrong in the kitchen - Jungwoo isn't sure what, he instinctively avoids the area when he hears Taeil's voice at top volume swearing at his unfortunate team, but half of the lunch orders come out cold and twenty minutes late, and a good fifty people walk out without paying as a result. Kyung, working his second double in three days as a result of the absent waiters, almost matches Taeil for high-octane obscenities, and even a conciliatory bowl of stew brought up by Seokjin doesn't shift the frown out of his expression. The fault is eventually traced to the receipt printers, and then there's a long battle to get someone on the phone who can come out at short notice to fix them.

By this time the fault has spread to the bar. Jungwoo comes up from the office at half past six to a teeming restaurant with a general air of discontent hanging over the floor like a pregnant stormcloud. Sejoon, Hoseok and Sungmin are moving at twice the normal speed, their eyes red and glinting from the amount of caffeine they've drunk, and the dispense bar is covered in melting pieces of ice, puddles of spilt liquid, and twenty or so bits of paper with drinks orders smudged across them.

"Printer's broke everyone's writing everything down can't talk too busy," Hoseok gabbles at Jungwoo's questioning expression.

It's lucky the restaurant is packed and noisy with complaints; the snap in Jungwoo's tone goes largely unheard. "Why didn't someone call me up?" The mile-wide eyes Hoseok turns on him as he turns out five drinks at the same time tells Jungwoo everything. Once again his shirt sleeves go up past the elbow and he all but slaps Jungkook back onto bar back duty and out from under the bartender's feet and grabs as many orders for beers and wines as he can read.

He's been there for around half an hour when he sees a blur out of the corner of his eye. When he turns he finds Sungmin, not with his hands full of cocktail shakers and glasses like they should be, but crouching next to the till with a flashlight up on his phone, peering at the connections on the printer. With a toothpick, he's probing at something on the back of the machine, lip caught between his teeth. Jungwoo glances to Sejoon, finds him far too occupied with the queue which has piled up at least twenty people deep at the point bar, and takes it upon himself to hurl a bottle cap at Sungmin's head. The younger boy jerks his head around, makes some kind of gesture with his eyebrows, and returns to his fiddling.

"Sungmin, God-fucking-damnit - "

Jungwoo stops roaring and starts feeling terrible as soon as the first slip of paper flops out of the printer.

It takes another hour after that for service to return to normal, and it's still a hectic Thursday, but Jungwoo finds a second next to the ice machine while Sungmin chokes down some chicken wings to apologise. "Man, you just up and fucking fixed it like that? How did you even - "

Sungmin goes a bit red, wipes grease off his mouth with the back of one hand and shrugs. "I - you know, it was kind of dumb of me anyway, I didn't even think - there's, like, on a console, there's that little reset button you have to get at with a pin or something right? I thought that might be worth a try - I dunno, I think I'm a bit caffeine drunk but I guess it worked." His chicken wings nearly go flying as Jungwoo embraces him.

"Thank God," Sejoon says with his mortified face half hidden in a tumbler of whisky once the shift is over. "Thank God we employed someone with an ounce of technical knowledge."

"Ahh, you tried your best," Sungmin says, patting his head soothingly. "It's not your fault printers don't respond to freestyle prose."

Self-restraint well and truly out of the window, Jungwoo bellows out a laugh and throws back his third shot of the evening.

 

He's supposed to have the morning off on Friday, but between deliveries that Jongkook doesn't know how to deal with and an unexpected influx of morning customers, Jungwoo gets battered awake by a desperate phonecall and drags himself in with a pounding head and a dusty mouth. The room spins slightly when he moves too fast and he thinks he can hear colours, but apart from that everything is, "Fine, no, seriously, we're all good."

Yuhwan doesn't sound at all convinced - he's known Jungwoo long enough to be able to sense when he's lying, let alone hear it in his voice - but he also doesn't sound well still. "Are you sure?"

Jungwoo can hear him weighing up the decision, and it forces a note of resolution into his voice which he doesn't feel in the slightest. "I'm so one hundred percent sure. Really." There's a dubious pause. "Listen, if you'd taken a couple of days off in the first place you wouldn't have got so sick, so don't rush now. You'll just get worse again." He doesn't like pulling guilt trips on people, especially on Yuhwan, but it has the desired effect: his friend hums a little, sighs, and gives in. He's clearly still too weak to argue back.

"I guess you're right. I'll definitely be back tomorrow though. One more good day of rest should sort me out. And Jungwoo - " With his cigarette finished, Jungwoo hangs up and all but sprints back to the floor, where the evening crowd is already swarming in, inconsiderately early and horribly loud.

The evening passes in a blur of forced smiles and sharp head pains. Kyung and Yoongi have gone past the point of confrontation; they're both so exhausted that they've realised all they have is each other, and their unpredictable show of team spirit - and the coffee Jimin keeps slipping into his hand with a smile warmer than the cup - keeps Jungwoo going through the evening. After the tense, terse ruckus of the previous night it's good to see the whole team banding together. Supportive thumbs up and salutes are thrown between the waiters and the bartenders; the kitchen puts a special pot of soup on the boil and runs bowls out to the floor staff at around ten, and Jungwoo gives Sejoon the nod to abandon protocol for once and slip everyone a cheeky bottle of beer. In a single quiet moment, observing the bustling space from the top of the stairs, Jungwoo feels a warm prickling in his stomach and he knows without Jongkook's snide comments that he's wearing the same proud smile he's teased Yuhwan for so many times.

Despite the all round exhaustion, no one walks away when they're finally closed. The long table is packed with groaning, yawning faces, swigging back drinks and swapping stories about their worst customer encounters that evening. Yoongi holds a spliff aloft like a trophy and invites anyone to come and join him; Minhyuk and Taeha spread out leftovers, ignoring Taeil's grumbles about how much extra washing up it's going to create. Jungwoo desperately wants to put his head down but he's drunk so much coffee that he can feel his blood fizzing.

He leans heavily on Sejoon's shoulder as they go out for a smoke. "If I don't wake up tomorrow please just leave me to die."

"Are you meant to be working?" Sejoon looks alarmed by the prospect. "You've done - what, sixty hours already this week? You've got to take tomorrow off - "

"I can't." Jungwoo's shaking so much from the caffeine that he almost inhales a whole cigarette in one drag. "Not if Yuhwan's still sick."

He avoids Sejoon's hard look, taking another cigarette out of his pack instead and lighting it with the butt of the first. Over the crackle of burning tobacco he catches a sigh. "Well, look, why don't you at least crash at Yuhwan's tonight? It's closer than our place. You can see if he's better in person, and then you won't have to worry if he needs to be here tomorrow."

"That's not a bad idea." Jungwoo pulls hard on his cigarette and fumbles his phone out of his pocket. After three or four failed attempts he passes it to Sejoon. "Text him for me? I can't see straight."

 

It's a good thing Yuhwan has more or less recovered, because the pounding on his front door that wakes him up tells him immediately that he's got something to deal with. It's half two in the morning, and he opens his door to find Jungwoo slumped against the wall. His hair hangs lank in his face and he smells like booze and smoke, but that's more or less normal for Jungwoo at this time of night. What's not normal is the look of total, dead-eyed exhaustion. He barely musters a greeting, stumbling indoors, quiet as a lamb as Yuhwan guides him to the bedroom.

"You should have said - " he begins, and shuts up when Jungwoo waves a weary hand in his face and flops down on the bed. His mouth gapes wide in a yawn and he falls backwards without even taking his jacket off.

"Shut up, sick boy. I - I managed, we were fine."

Yuhwan stoops forward to pull off his dirty shoes before they can tangle into the sheets. Jungwoo has his mouth open as if he's going to say something else, but before he can get there his eyes flutter closed and he slumps back against the mattress, a long hard breath rattling out of his lungs. With the dim light making dark shadows play across his hollow eyes and his big frame sprawled out on the bed, he slips into his first untroubled sleep in nearly a week. Fully clothed and foul smelling as Jungwoo is, Yuhwan can't bring himself to disturb him. He switches off the light and folds his duvet over his friend, and allows himself just one shake of the head. Then he goes to the airing cupboard to find a spare duvet and settles himself on the opposite side of the bed, Jungwoo's uneven breaths shaking the space between them.

"You've worked hard," he whispers.

 

When Yuhwan turns up the next day, the staff nearly knock him off their feet in their eagerness to greet him. He's happy to say his pride isn't dented at all by the fact that they're not half as excited by his return as they are by the fight to tell him just how fucking awesome Jungwoo has been in his absence.


	31. First Time's The Worst Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jimin is a shy first timer and Taewoon is a bad influence.

On Jimin’s trial shift, Kyung had given him the low down on the other members of staff in a confidential tone which suggested he already had the job, although Jimin wasn’t sure if this was because Kyung liked him and wanted him to come work there, or if he just liked to gossip. In snatched moments by the waiter’s station, refilling jugs of water and showing off his napkin folding skills, Kyung had reeled off a stream of semi-relevant, semi-salacious information about their manager Yuhwan and his soft spots, who in the kitchen was most likely to give you free food, why the lanky host Jaehyo was the butt of just about every joke in the place, and how the bar staff, while usually cool and friendly, would turn into raging spiteful demons as soon as things got too busy and it was best just to humour them.

“Then there’s Jiho, obviously,” and Kyung paused to blow a sloppy kiss to the taller guy concentrating hard on transporting four dishes across the floor, snickering when he lost his concentration and almost tripped, “and Taewoon-hyung, he’s the head waiter. We call him the Sauropod. He’s fucking huge and he’s got a mad temper, but he’s good fun if you get on his right side.”

Kyung was smiling in this sly unreadable way, and Jimin felt his throat get dry. It was intimidating to begin with, in his first proper job (helping out in his parent’s cafe didn’t count; he knew half the customers who went there and the coffee and light meals they served was nothing compared to this vast and complex menu, not to mention that the bar and grill was about three times the size of the cafe) and surrounded by all these older, larger boys who already knew each other and the job so well. He was joining a very close team - Yuhwan had pressed that point in his interview, that they looked for people who they thought would fit in well because everyone being friends was important to the ethos of the place. He came away from his trial feeling relieved, impressed by his performance, but with a sinking feeling of dread whenever he thought about the behemoth who he would be working under from then on.

“The head waiter,” he’d said nervously after Yuhwan had shaken his hand and congratulated him for the evening’s work. “What’s he like?”

Yuhwan’s face fell naturally into a cheery expression most of the time, but this question made a frown flicker between his eyebrows, and Jimin’s stomach sank a little more. “Taewoon? He’s - oh, he’s not so bad. He can be overwhelming at first. Nothing to be scared of!”

Jimin immediately felt twice as scared as before.

“New wait staff?” someone chipped in. It was one of the chefs, a small blond guy with narrow, inscrutable eyes. His gaze scraped Jimin up and down without a flicker of expression in his face. “You’ll be fine. He likes the little pretty ones.” Yuhwan shook his head and shooed him off, but his thin, mocking smile stuck with Jimin.

It’s all he can do on his very first shift to raise his head and look Taewoon properly in the eyes. Kyung hadn’t been lying. Jimin’s already pretty short, and Taewoon towers over him, broad and solid looking. Everything about him is larger than life, from his cavernous mouth to his meaty hands which swallow up Jimin’s in a handshake that puts a few bones out of position.

“New meat, huh,” he says, grinning like he’s anticipating how Jimin’s going to taste. Jimin bites back the squeak that rises in his throat and just bows his head.

“It’s - it’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Woo. Please take care of me, I’ll work hard.”

Some of Jimin’s hair blows back from his forehead in the gust of Taewoon’s laughter, and he buckles under a hand slapping down on his shoulder. “Take it easy kid, loosen up! Call me Taewoon, okay. Or you can call me dad.”

“Stop trying to get people to call you dad,” Jiho says in passing. “It’s creepy.”

Jimin goes from terrified to extremely confused in the space of a second, and he hangs between the two feelings for the rest of the shift.

Yuhwan and Kyung had both been right, in their own ways. The best word for Taewoon is ‘overwhelming’. He’s immensely helpful, demonstrating to Jimin how to carry six plates at once, stacking them up the length of his big arms and explaining which order to take the dishes out in; Jimin follows him around the floor for the first half of the evening, watching him chatter and laugh with the customers, banter with the bar staff as he collects drinks, and alternately chastise and direct the other waiters, taking a brusque attitude with his brother Jiho and a softer tone with Kyung, who’s clearly something of a favourite. But just when he’s apparently being his most informative, the serious air snaps in two with some lewd action or jokey comment, and Jimin hasn’t got the first idea how to take it. Clearly the closeness of the staff leads to a lot of inside jokes, but the difference between the polite, gently flirtatious but always attentive way Taewoon treats the customers, and the irreverent, bizarre manner he takes with the rest of the staff, makes Jimin’s head spin.

He watches as Taewoon turns away with one last warm smile for a group of four young women eating together, and shows Jimin the order he’s placing for a bottle of their most expensive wine when the women had only ordered two glasses at first.

“That’s how you do it,” Taewoon says with a lecherous wink, and then approaches the bar and yells at the bartender with the heavy eyebrows: “Hey, sexy Sejoonie, hit me up with that babe liquor!”

'Sexy Sejoonie’ shakes his head good naturedly and smiles at Jimin as he passes over the wine. “How’re you getting on? Hope Taewoon’s not being too much of a bad influence.” Before Jimin can answer that massive hand descends on his shoulder again and he finds himself dragged into Taewoon’s side.

“Kid’s getting on just fine. Look at that face. He’ll be cleaning up on tips in a week.”

Jimin remembers the comment about how Taewoon likes the 'little, pretty ones’, and despite the apparently paternal hand ruffling his hair, he starts to feel, again, distinctly uneasy.


	32. You're A Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jungkook’s on a trial as bar back and Sungmin doesn’t need to get so protective.
> 
> Note on bar calls: 86 means ‘we’re out, needs replacing/refilling’, ‘backs’ is to let people know you’re behind them or trying to get past.
> 
> Note on names: Please do not confuse yourself between Jongkook (pointy-faced angel-voiced demon looking member of SPEED, bartender in this AU) and Jungkook (small evil rabbit child of BTS, bar back on trial).

Bar calls echo back and forth across the cramped space; fridge doors thudding closed keeps up a steady percussive backbeat to the clatter-tinkle of ice; the soft hush of sodden rubber soles on sticky vinyl scraches back and forth. A shower of bottle caps erupts from Jongkook’s arms as he pops open six beers in quick succession. Over on point, Sejoon is in his element, his stream of chatter as elegant and smooth as the gleaming spirits which arc out of each bottle. Sungmin jostles at the ice well for the last scoop, caps his shaker like he’s never once fumbled and tipped the entire thing over the bar top, and takes a step back, leaning enough to shout into the bar back area.

“Hey - hey, kid - new barback, whatever your name was - uh - we need more - ”

“Eighty six ice, dispense,” Jongkook bellows, elbowing Sungmin out of the way with an exasperated look. “You’ve gotta get used to shouting, Minnie!”

Sungmin tries to square his shoulders out as he strains the drink out, folding his mouth into a little pout. “I never liked being yelled at like that.” The withering look he gets by way of reply reminds him that the bar team he’s joined, as pleasant as they can be, doesn’t set quite as much store by plain politeness as he does. Not in the middle of service anyway.

The new barback appears around the corner, slightly wild about the eyes. Sungmin feels for him, really. He was all bright beady eyes and inquisitiveness at five o'clock when the shift started, sniffing around the inside of the bar and running reverent fingers over the equipment like he thought it might be invested with magical properties. “I can’t wait to start learning,” he’d said, and in typical fashion Sejoon had got all paternal with him and given him a long speech about the true meaning of good bartending and how hard work was the most important thing.

“You’ll have to spend a while running around, but you seem like a smart kid. I’m sure you’ve got potential.” Jongkook and Sungmin had shared a glance that was half amused, half ‘what a lot of bullshit’; they both knew Sejoon was just flattered by how intently the kid was listening to him. He was only seventeen, after all; the bar team, especially Sejoon in his crisp white shirt and waistcoat, must have looked like the epitome of cool professionals to him.

That was two hours ago. Now, with his hair damp and straggling over his forehead and the previously white toes of his (almost certainly brand new) Converse scuffed and muddied, the poor kid looked like he was on the verge of tears. Sungmin thinks back to his own first shift, when Jongkook had elbowed him gently in the ribs and muttered, “the first thing you’ve got to learn is how to get yelled at a lot.” He’d been used to it already; his teachers did a fair amount of yelling. The way the new kid looks, you’d think no one had raised their voice to him in his life.

“Eighty six ice,” Jongkook is hollering again, and the kid skids forward to fumble the ice bucket from the barback station. He looks like he’s quivering a bit, knuckles clutched white around the rim of the bucket, and Sungmin tries to force a sympathetic smile through his wince - because if he’s already in this much of a state then he’s just not going to cut it.

“I heard you the first time,” he says, somewhere between petulance and desperation. Sungmin widens his eyes at him, shakes his head.

“Then get on with it!”

The kid speeds off into the back area where the ice machines are. Sungmin shoots a look across to Jongkook, whose expression is just a touch too pleased with himself. “It’s months since you had to do that job. Why are you still being like this?”

“Like what?” Jongkook says, although he carefully avoids Sungmin’s eyes when he says it. “Hey, if Taewoon could do it for an evening and be fine with being yelled at then I don’t see why this new bug can’t.”

This is Jongkook’s standards response, and to be fair it’s true; Taewoon had stood up excellently to an evening of having orders barked at him - but then, Taewoon was able to get his own back the next time the bar was being slow with his table’s drinks. He did plenty of shouting in the opposite direction. The bar back, on the other hand - Sungmin knew, he’d been there - was the sole target of the working bartender’s fury, always on hand to be blamed when the station ran out of anything or a fridge wasn’t properly stocked. It was difficult, but it was also the only thing they were really there for, and Sungmin had done the job long enough to know that it could be done, if you were alert and concientious, and most importantly never tried to argue back. Sejoon liked to say that the bar backs were really the most important workers in the bar, because, “without them we wouldn’t be able to do our jobs uninterrupted.” Sungmin thought of them more as the unsung infantry in the constantly ongoing battle of the bar. They were there to keep stocks up, but it was rare that any of the glory fell to them.

Well, that was somewhat unfair. The guys he worked with were usually fair about giving praise where praise was due. But it didn’t make an evening of dashing about and being yelled at much more fun when you were going through it. Sungmin can already see that this new kid is going to have to grow a thicker skin if he wants to hang around. He returns with the ice, nearly slipping in a puddle of spilled vodka and crushed lime halves, and ducks in between the two bartenders. Jongkook’s elbow comes down hard on the kid’s shoulder as he draws his shaker tin back, and half the bucket of ice crashes to the floor.

Only a quick hand from Sungmin stops the kid bringing down the entire speed rail as he slips. “Are you alright?” he tries to ask, but it’s drowned by Jongkook’s volley of swearing.

“Backs, Jesus fucking Christ idiot, yell 'backs’ or you’re gonna get crushed!” The snap in his tone catches Sejoon’s attention, and a sharp look thrown over his shoulder has Jongkook pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath. “Sejoon told you right at the start of the shift, it’s for your own safety.”

The kid curls his lower lip down, trembling in a shirt which is now damp with ice water. Sungmin opens his mouth to step in. He can already see an embarrassing drama unfolding and it dredges up painful reminders of his own first couple of weeks, when he’d been so unsure and nervous, and the over-stretched bar team had grown so exasperated with his forgetfulness and clumsy hands that he’d spent nearly half an hour gulping back tears by the ice machine until Yuhwan stopped by, mopped him up and promised to have a word with Sejoon. It had been easier after that, with a couple of extra shifts where Sejoon went through his duties in painstaking detail and Yukwon and Jongkook biting back their displeasure once they saw how hard he was trying. But Sungmin still remembers viscerally the sick, stomach-churning feeling of hot cheeks and overflowing eyes and the sickening humiliation of having these older boys watch as he crumbled. The new kid bites hard into his lower lip, fists closing at his side.

“Jongkook - ” he says.

“He also said that the bartenders wouldn’t be stupid enough to wait until they were completely out of something before wanting a refill,” the new kid retorts. The ice bucket smacks into Jongkook’s leg as he snatches it up, and he turns his back on the two bartender’s stunned faces and somehow manages to flounce straight through the mess of spilled ice.

Sungmin doesn’t try to restrain Jongkook’s shouting after that.


	33. Special Announcement!

Special Announcement! Due to the cool and awesome amounts of love the SPEED Bar and Grill has been getting, the staff members have been kind enough to agree to take time out of their busy (drunk) schedule to answer some questions! I've kindly agreed to lend my Tumblr to them for the occasion because I'm nice like that.

On Saturday 30th they (I) will be answering anything you care to ask, no question too invasive or potentially inflammatory. If this event is received well it may lead to a permanent sideblog; if not it’s fine and we’ll all carry on getting pissed up as usual.

Please hit up my askbox, don’t be shy, and please always remember that ‘swag’ is not an acceptable substitute for government approved identification.

(After all questions are done I'll be posting them up here as well, so if you don't have a Tumblr you won't miss out. Also if you want to leave a comment here instead, I'll check back and make sure I don't miss anyone.)


	34. Scenes of a Debauch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s about time we saw the full bloody nature of the monthly staff party at the SPEED Bar and Grill. In which the stoners get stoned, Sejoon and Jongkook endanger their lives, Taeha endangers Seokjin’s life, Sungmin gets sick (as always) and Yuhwan is stuck in the middle of it all.
> 
> Warnings for drinking, drug use, gross sloppy make outs and very poor life decisions.

The party is in full swing by the time Jungwoo opens the door to Yukwon's flushed, befuddled face. He's got his usual smile slung ear to ear and his hair is bunched in clumps on the top of his head. Behind Jungwoo, the dirty light of the flat glows in invitation, a clatter of guitar music and video game bleeps and hoarse, drunk voices filtering out into the corridor.

"Kwonnie!" Jungwoo slings an arm around his neck to drag him in, kicking the door shut behind them. "Fashionably late dude, like it."

"Yeah, Tama was going out too so we had a smoke together before she left and then, you know how it is, one thing after another." Yukwon musses his already mussed hair and his half-lidded eyes gleam. His mouth is bruised looking, and Jungwoo scrunches his nose up and punches his shoulder gently, wobbling as he does.

"Smug asshole. At least someone's getting laid, right? Don't need any more sexually deprived losers around here." He leads the way to the living room, filled to bursting with shouts of laughter and elbows being jammed into ribs and cigarette smoke dusting the tops of their heads. "Beer's in the cooler as always. Yoongi's already started the hot box, tell him not to drag all my weights out my wardrobe like last time. They probably weigh more than he does." He shoulders his way back through the crowd, towards where a knot of people stand around the television roaring like they're watching the World Cup rather than a match of Mario Kart. 

Yukwon just stands and breathes it all in for a second: the musk and sweat, the booze, the fruity smell of weed creeping from under the closed door of Jungwoo's bedroom, and the underlying scent of musty damp which emanates from the battered, second hand furniture, because despite being two men in their twenties, Sejoon and Jungwoo's bachelor pad is furnished like that of an elderly maiden auntie who hasn't bought anything new since the Seventies, from the faded evergreen pot plant on the windowsill to the teak television cabinet which doesn't quite fit the corner of the room it's jammed into. Jiho and Kyung are crossed legged on the floor by the stereo, heads together, thumbing through their phones and bickering over the music. Taewoon's sprawled over the entire sofa as usual, pouring beer into his mouth with one hand and making emphatic gestures at a red-faced Sungmin with the other. Sejoon and Namjoon are propped up against the back of the sofa, engrossed in intense conversation, with Jongkook looking between the two of them hopelessly waiting to get a word in edgeways. Jungkook flutters awkwardly at the fringe of the gaming crowd, waiting for his turn and oblivious to Jimin tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie.

The sweet smell of smoke is calling him. Yukwon peels off his jacket and savours the rich, warm billow of air that hits him when he opens the door to Jungwoo's bedroom. The tiny space is foggy, the ceiling barely visible through thick swirls of smoke, and a chorus of bleary voices greets his arrival. "Kwon-dori," Yoongi says from somewhere on the bed. The springs creak as he wriggles forward and holds out the glowing end of a blunt. "Nice of you to join us."

Yukwon shuts the door and steps over Hoseok - flat on his stomach with his feet kicking against the wardrobe and his eyes glued to Candy Crush - to join Yoongi on Jungwoo's creaking bed. They get to use this room as their smoke out on the condition that they don't make a mess, but it would be hard to trash the place any more. As usual the thought of company hasn't driven their assistant manager to clean up at all: his beer can pyramid is still stacked against the opposite wall, crumpled jogging bottoms and vests line the floor like yellowing, grimy rugs, and the spider web that was in progress when they were last here now occupies one whole corner of the window, quivering in the breeze from their exhales.

"Did you bring the bong?" Yukwon sits down, accepting the spliff end and reaching out with his foot to nudge Hoseok in the side.

"Eh?" He's chewing on the corner of his mouth while he focuses on the game, and it takes a second, more insistent nudge to get him to pause it and look up. His eyes are red and flicker around for a moment before he locates Yukwon's face, and Yoongi has that familiar slack, stupid grin on his face. They've obviously been here a while. "Oh, that, yeah. It's in my bag. Wanted to try these new wraps first though." Yukwon takes his first hit as Hoseok speaks, the sweet burn and kick of the weed mixing in his mouth with another, more artificial taste.

He takes the spliff out of his mouth and looks at it. "What are these?"

"Taehyung brought them." Hoseok goes back to his game, drumming along on the wardrobe to the rhythm of the bass from next door.

Taehyung's slouched down next to the bed, flicking with much amused interest through a dog-eared skin mag he'd unearthed from under Jungwoo's bed. "Wouldn't you be afraid to touch those?" he asks, holding up a picture of a woman with particularly well enhanced breasts. "Wouldn't you be scared they'd like, burst or something?" Then he sees the end Yukwon's holding up, and his face splits into a toothy smile. "Ahh, yeah yeah, these are great! They're like, raspberry flavoured, I got coconut and chocolate ones as well. I wanna eat them, they're so tasty."

"Doesn't taste like raspberry to me," Yukwon says, dragging again and making a face at the chemical tang.

"Tastes like ass," Yoongi mutters.

"You'd know." Stretching his arms hard above his head, Taehyung flings the magazine to the other side of the room where it slithers off Hoseok's thigh and falls open to a page depicting a physically improbable set of genitals. "Jungwoo-hyung's such a pervert, wow."

"Why would you even buy those magazines? You can get way cheaper stuff for free online."

"Have you seen his computer?" Yukwon motions to the scuffed up laptop, thick as a loaf of bread, which sits in sleep mode on the nearby table. "Probably takes a week to download one titty."

"He told me he was gonna cut up the pictures and stick them around the office to piss Yuhwan off, but he chickened out in the end." Finally pausing his game, Hoseok sits up and yawns, scratching at the back of his neck. His bare forearms are pock-marked from the pile of the carpet. "So, are we gonna pack this bowl or what?"

 

Jongkook has nothing against Namjoon in particular - Jaehyo had been fifty times easier to deal with since the other host had been hired and he wasn't being deprived of his beauty sleep, and at least once a week Namjoon brought in packets of cookies or doughnuts to ease the rest of the staff through a difficult shift. He's a nice kid, but he's also a talker. He and Sejoon have been going for nearly an hour now and Jongkook is just about ready to pull his hair out. He's too sober, and he feels like an idiot just listening to their conversation. The one time he did volunteer a response - after Namjoon had wound down a five-minute spiel about personal integrity that forced even him to pause for breath - they'd both looked at him with such polite confusion that he'd almost stormed off.

But no. Sejoon is his friend first and foremost, and he's determined to stick it out until he can grab his attention. Because he knows that what he has to give Sejoon will make his eyes much bigger and brighter than any dissection of "the intentional theatric spectacle of hospitality". In the mean time he gulps down the rest of his beer and tries to levitate another one out of the cooler by the sole power of his mind.

"What are you glaring at?"

Jongkook blinks up to find Namjoon departed and Sejoon looking at him with a faint smile. "Sorry. Zoned out. Has Einstein left you alone?"

"Einstein was a scientist, not a philosopher." Sejoon shakes his head, theatrically exasperated by Jongkook's ignorance. Jongkook ignores it; he knows that, doesn't really care, and has something much more important to talk about. "We were actually having a really fascinating discussion - see, he holds that the persona projected by the service worker is of necessity forced upon one and reinforces a hierarchical class structure - "

"Dude, shut up," Jongkook groans. "I thought you said you wanted to get trashed tonight?" The month had been hectic as the weather got warmer, and the bar staff had talked of nothing but the upcoming party all week. Sejoon in particular had needed some cheering up, after the girl he'd been seeing unexpectedly broke it off. If his poetry was anything to go by, Sejoon enjoyed being tragic and broken hearted far more than he let on, but Jongkook was a good friend and respected his need to get wasted as soon as possible.

"That still stands." Sejoon swishes the beer around in his bottle to make the point, and Jongkook deadeyes him.

"We can do better than corner shop lager, man. I have a present for you."

Before Namjoon can reappear he drags Sejoon into the safety of the corridor, where the smell of vomit from the bathroom keeps everyone away. His bag is jammed under the rickety hallway table; he digs around and pulls out two pewter tankards, dented and a bit rusty around the edges but still solid. Sejoon's mouth drops open as Jongkook presses them triumphantly into his hands.

"Holy - wow, wow! Where did you find these?"

"Junk shop, near where I get my bike fixed. Had a bit of a rummage in there while I was waiting and found these babies." Jongkook gets to his feet, grinning at Sejoon's awestruck face as he turns the mugs around.

"Oh wow, I've been looking for something like this for ages! Oh man, thank you so much." Jongkook lets out an uncomfortable grunt as Sejoon pulls him into a one-armed hug, but he's still grinning when he steps back.

"So, you know what this means?"

"Oh, fuck yes." It's rare for Sejoon to swear like that but it's also rare to see him so excited he's practically vibrating. They hustle to the kitchen straight away, where Yuhwan, Taeil and Jaehyo are smoking in companionable silence and sharing a bottle of vodka. Yuhwan only spares them a brief glance, affectionately exasperated but too tipsy to care. Besides, it's party night; Yuhwan has long since given up trying to exercise managerial authority over the staff when they're off duty, especially since it's usually his assistant manager who's stumbling around encouraging whatever stupid ideas are being carried out.

"What are you two up to?"

"Kookie found these," Sejoon holds up the tankards, oblivious to Taeil's scoff and Jaehyo's look of disgust at the tarnished metal. "We've been wanting to try this thing out for ages, it's called a Blue Blazer - "

"I can already see where this is going." Yuhwan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just be careful, okay?"

The warning goes unheard; Sejoon's already slamming his way through the cupboards, trying to find the things he wants. He lines them up on the counter: brandy, bitters, sugar cubes, an orange and a poisonous green bottle of absinthe, which was responsible for the single worst hangover Jongkook's ever had in his life. Sejoon's thirst for new and exciting cocktails is a boon for their business but hell for his friends' heads. Tonight will end - Jongkook already knows and has made peace with it - with a long bout of vomiting; he'll lose his keys, shoes, wallet, dignity, maybe all of them, and he'll contemplate suicide the following morning. But for now, he watches Sejoon pour brandy into one tankard, feels a rush of excitement in his stomach and clicks his lighter on.

"This is gonna be deadly."

 

The tile of the bathroom wall is pleasantly cool against Minhyuk's back. Between the beer and the rushing blood brought on by the bit of powder he'd swallowed an hour ago, his skin is flushed under his shirt, and the tile makes a nice soothing contrast. Bathrooms, he thinks, looking around the tiny, dirty space, are really a blessing. It's cool in here; the stretch of white tile reminds him of the kitchen, and with the door closed the ruckus from outside barely penetrates. Thank God for separate toilets. The one thing he really hates about the staff parties is the inevitable stink of puke.

He resettles himself on the edge of the bath tub and takes his phone down for a moment, pausing the recording. He's got plenty of material already, and he's not sure things are going to get more hilarious than this. In front of the mirror, Taeha's tiny shoulders battle with Seokjin's broad ones for space. Their faces are flushed, eyes huge and shining, and Taeha's perfect make up is repeated, with slightly less successful results, on Seokjin. Taeha had arrived half-drunk, with his hair in knots and his lower lip looking suspiciously swollen. Whether it's a lack of his usual self-consciousness about employing cutesy, wheedling tones to get his own way, or just something about the way his lithe frame moves when he's swaying, not as prickly and pissed off as normal, Taeha's powers of persuasion go through the roof when he's had a few. And Seokjin - as they'd found over the past few months, through requests to swap shifts and borrowed cigarettes and the time he'd lied straight to Taeil's face to cover up for a delivery Minhyuk had fucked up - Seokjin finds it very hard to say no.

Which makes Taeha's shameless exploitation of him a lot more unfair, but since they both seem to be having a good time Minhyuk saves the reprimands for later. He watches their faces in the mirror - damp, lip-bitten and smudged with eyeliner - as Taeha jostles up at Seokjin's side, batting his hand away from his face impatiently and running his own fingers over Seokjin's jaw.

"No, see, this, this angle," and he pushes Seokjin's head to the side, taps at his jawbone with pink glittery fingernails, "this angle is your best one, see how it puts your face in proportion?"

"My face is in perfect proportion already," Seokjin says, jerking away from the grab. He keeps swallowing with a sticky, smacking sound, and his hands are trembling on the sink. Minhyuk's keeping one eye on the situation but it's too entertaining right now to intervene.

"Can't say the same about the rest of you." Taeha runs a hand down his own body, turning to the side to admire himself better. His jeans cling to every muscle in his legs and his shirt hem sits perfectly above the waistband, enough to reveal a flash of stomach when he raises his arms. A red gemstone glitters at his navel. Minhyuk wonders when he got that done. "A perfect miniature." He poses, throws his mirror-self a smirk, and Seokjin lets out a shivery laugh.

"You're lucky you look good from above."

"I look better from below."

Their voices are coming fast and snappy, words tripping over each other because when Taeha decides to go, he goes hard and takes anyone he can drag along with him. Minhyuk's not sure if this is Seokjin's first time rolling, but judging from the way his eyes keep twitching with surprise every time his shoulders and neck curl with a new rush, the answer is likely yes. Taeha has one of his hands around Seokjin's waist, rubbing disinterested circles into his skin, and he uses that grip to drag them both closer to the mirror. Shimmery lipgloss smudges under shaking hands.

"You feel good yeah? It's good?"

"Yeah, I - no - yes, yes it's - oh wow, look at your eyes - "

They do look rather spectacular, Minhyuk has to admit: eyes popped wide and dark and shining, skin flushed, hair tumbled over their faces, Taeha's lithe, narrow frame next to Seokjin's broad one. They look incredible, but they also look utterly fucked, and that's the kind of combination that has Minhyuk raising his phone again, ready with his camera.

 

Taewoon had seen Hoseok approaching him from across the room - Hoseok with some kind of neon-pink alcoholic monstrosity in one hand and his shirt hitched up to just below his ribcage, for no reason that Taewoon could place - at the precise moment when Sungmin had lurched forward, steadied himself with a hand on one knee, and made that pinch-face terrified expression that meant someone had better get him to a bathroom, pronto. So, despite Sungmin's apologetic mumbles into his shirt collar, Taewoon thinks he's done him a bit of a favour.

Scrabbling himself between Taewoon's chest and the toilet with hands so damp they squeak on the tiled floor, Sungmin lets loose another clatter of half-digested lunch and a groan which echoes around the tiny room. The toilet isn't the most pleasant place to be crammed in next to a puking teenager; the tiles are an especially vile shade of avocado, there's damp rot spotting the grouting and the single, tiny window doesn't open after the catch got smashed many parties ago. But Taewoon's been here himself enough times that he can't begrudge a similar soothing hand to someone else - especially not to Sungmin. Until the hiring of the newest recruits a few months ago, Sungmin had been the youngest member of staff, and just the right blend of good-natured, amusing and eager to utterly endear himself to all the older boys.

"He's still almost useless," Sejoon had said despairingly, two or so months after Sungmin had been hired. "But he tries so hard, it's impossible to be angry." And this remains true for everything, from Sungmin's breathless spiels to customers about cocktails he "isn't sure how to make, really, but if you tell me what's in it we can figure it out, I know it!" to his endless offers to swap shifts and stay late, right down to his admirable but thoroughly idiotic attempts to keep up with the drinking pace of people who are older, more experienced and twice as wide as he is.

"I'm sorry," he says, once he's spat up the last foul chunks and has reached the stage of breathing hard with his forehead propped in his hands. Taewoon leans forward to ease him back, so he's not huffing in his own vomit-stench, flushes the toilet and reaches for the loo roll. "I'm really - really - "

Keeping Sungmin propped up in the crook of his arm, Taewoon dabs at his mouth, foregoing the shaking Sungmin really deserves for making the same mistake he makes at every party - because Taewoon isn't one to judge, he was young and stupid like that, and many would say he's now just old and stupid. "Don't worry about it kiddo. After six years I still haven't learnt to say no to shots, 'specially not when Jungwoo's pounding on the table."

"You don't get sick everywhere and embarrass yourself," Sungmin mumbles. 

"Hey, you didn't get sick everywhere! Just in the toilet this time."

"I'm never coming to work again." Sungmin says this at just about every party. Taewoon thinks he's be far more embarrassed if anyone witnessed the aftermath of his marathon hurling session. Now he's stopped throwing up he's wearying, sloppy and over-emotional from physical exertion, and he latches onto the nearest source of comfort. His lanky arms come up to tangle around Taewoon's neck like trailing ivy; he's too warm and shivery, smells like sweat and puke, but even if Taewoon could detangle himself he wouldn't. They're not just idiot kids, the rest of the staff, as infuriating and dumb and immature as they could be sometimes. Long before they started jokingly calling Yuhwan 'papa', they've been a family. And maybe Taewoon gets a little over-sentimental when he drinks, but no one's here to see him pull Sungmin closer and pet soothingly at his sweaty hair.

 

Jaehyo listens hard for a second and sets his glass down with a thunk, slopping vodka and coke over his hand. "I think Sungmin's done being sick. I've got to pee." He heaves himself to his feet, mashing the skinny butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, and wobbles off in a cloud of minty smoke.

"I guess - " Yuhwan stifles a hiccup, giggles for no real reason. "I guess I should go make sure no one's injured. Keep an eye on those two?" He jabs his thumb at Sejoon and Jongkook, their faces somewhere between flushed and singed, plunging the tankards under cold water and gazing with wonder at the scorched paint on the ceiling. Taeil grunts something which Yuhwan takes as assent - he's deep in his own glassy, vodka-induced stupor, eyes half-lidded, the coal of his cigarette glowing dangerously near to his knuckles, and Yuhwan wonders briefly who's going to set themselves on fire first before he stride-staggers out of the kitchen.

The living room is a cacophony of noise and peculier smells. The Mario Kart battle is still going strong, although neither Jimin nor Jungkook seem capable of keeping their vehicles on the road for more than ten seconds at a time. Jungkook has his head bent low over his controller, mashing at the buttons and mumbling furiously every time he skids off kilter, while Jimin's fighting a losing battle against his own giggling fit and a bleary-eyed Taehyung's limbs snaking around him. Still camped out by the stereo, Jiho and Kyung's phones lie discarded at their feet, their hands occupied in an intense, groping sort of wrestle with each other. Luckily for everyone the music drowns out the smacking sound of their mouths, but they're attracting enough disgusted glances to ensure total ridicule the next time they work a shift together.

"Come on bro, let's get you in bed." 

Yuhwan's knocked forward by Taewoon, shoving his path through to Sejoon's bedroom with Sungmin slung over his shoulder, gulping back miserable little retches, fringe glued sweatily to his forehead. He pauses long enough to throw his eyes in a pointed, if defocused, way, over to Jungwoo, who's slumped on the floor halfway across the room and ducks out of sight with a red face. "Please confiscate the tequila," Taewoon says, but Yuhwan doesn't even need to look to know that the bottle is already empty.

A roar goes up from the group around the television as Jimin's Bowser spins off the edge of the Rainbow Road and Jungkook hurtles to victory; Namjoon appears in the open doorway of Jungwoo's room with a heady smell billowing around him and a wobbly, faintly nauseous smile plastered across his face; on the sofa Yoongi's sitting stiff and utterly terrified in Seokjin's lap, the beatifically flushed face of the larger boy buried in his shoulder and his arms fastened firmly around Yoongi's waist. Yuhwan turns at another noise from behind him and finds Taeha slipping out of the bathroom. He curls his fingers into Yuhwan's shirt, turns up his tunnel-dark eyes and tugs at him.

"Come do a bump with me."

Yuhwan reaches down to untangle his fingers. Taeha's hands are hard and cold, and he continues to cling. "No, JingJing. Bad idea."

"You're so sensible." Taeha makes it sound like an insult, but Yuhwan looks again around the scene of utter debauch - the grappling pile of Jiho and Kyung, Jungwoo's prone figure next to the drained tequila bottle, the wriggling heap of screeching boys fighting over the video game, and Taewoon overbalancing under Sungmin's weight and knocking an end table to the floor with a flurry of unopened post - and while part of him wants to join in - to throw all inhibitions into Sejoon's flaming tankards and cut completely loose - he's fairly sure he's the only one left who's sober enough to be able to call an ambulance. It might not be the most fun thing to do at a party, but it's necessary.

"Someone has to be," he replies, and his chest swells a little with pride for approximately three seconds before the full weight of a bellowing, half-naked Hoseok lands on his back and he, Hoseok and Taeha crash through the door of the bathroom and land in a tangle of bruised elbows and expletives. A shutter clicks from somewhere above them.

"This party just keeps getting better," Minhyuk smirks.


	35. Tie a Rope to your Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we explore the further misadventures of Shin ‘Misfortune Kookie’ Jongkook, and his favourite Rooster bro tries to provide a little sympathy.

“ - and man, it’s one thing to get spoiled for a win, but now I can’t even be miserable in peace.” Jamming a wine bottle into an ice bucket, Jongkook remains heedless of the water that slops over the side as he pushes it across the dispense bar. He thumps down a circle of glasses around it with equal disregard, turns his back on Yoongi’s rolling eyes, and leans against the speed rail with his arms folded. “Jeez. I’m sorry, I’m just gonna be pissed off for the rest of the shift now.”

Ever mellow, Yukwon quirks an eyebrow and offers over a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before he turns back to the coffee machine. He’s too laid back to really get the kind of personal investment in team sports which can take Jongkook’s day from okay to miserable, but he knows better than to say that. The premature news of Jongkook’s teams’ crushing defeat in the semi-finals has come halfway through a hectic, aggravating shift, the kind of shift that could be anthropomorphosised as a squalling, sticky, six year old child with snatching fingers and a hair trigger temper. If the failure of a group of guys to kick a ball in the correct place more times than another group of guys (as Yukwon’s summarised it before) is, by itself, perhaps not something to get so worked up over, on top of the chaos they’re enduring it seems a bit more reasonable for Jongkook’s face to have darkened so visibly. Yukwon doesn’t make the mistake of further prodding the sore spot. Jongkook gets clumsy when he’s mad, and neither of them fancy staying an extra half an hour cleaning up the bar for the evening shift.

Yoongi, however, bears no responsibility for glasses smashed or drinks overturned. His snide tone floats like grease in the gutter across the bar. “Wow, that’ll make a change.” The glasses tinkle as he stacks them between his fingers; Jongkook whips around with his lip curled, ready to retort. “Such a goddamn ray of sunshine usually.”

“You think you’ve got any room to talk - ” Jongkook snaps, but Yoongi’s already departed with a final noise of contempt at the overfilled ice bucket. It’s times like these that the bar becomes a blessing, although Jongkook thinks for a good thirty seconds about hurdling it to race after the waiter and smack him around the head. Maybe he’s not always a glowing ball of good cheer like Hoseok and Yukwon manage to be - but neither is Yoongi, and he, to all appearances, has less right to be grouchy than Jongkook does. Jongkook’s shitty luck is the stuff of legend, except legends at some point fade into history and their veracity becomes questionable. Jongkook’s misfortune refuses, with a mulishness rivalling that of its owner, to make like the girl he’d been out with on Tuesday evening and just disappear.

 

“Really? She just walked right out?” Sejoon’s expression approaches disbelief but never quite makes it there, because it’s entirely too plausible that something like this could happen to Jongkook. They’re cosied up in Sejoon’s living room, the hectic morning over and Sejoon’s threadbare couch a waiting invitation for a long session of what Sejoon refers to as ‘commiseration and beer therapy’, and Jongkook’s annoying house mate, the one who does yoga and crams the fridge full of vitamin water, calls 'drinking your feelings away’.

“Yeah man, just fucked right off! And then Jihyun gave me all that, _she probably smelt the booze on you, you look like you just walked out of a bar_ \- ” Jongkook mimes gagging once he’s done with his nasally impersonation, and shakes his hands in the air for emphasis. “Like, yes, you fucking idiot, that’s because I fucking did - God, she has no fucking clue how ordinary people live, I don’t see why her dad can’t just buy her a flat on her own somewhere, I’m so sick of the place stinking of bio-yoghurt and dog farts - ”

Sejoon scrambles to stem the gush of beer from his mouth as he gets caught with one of those sudden yelps of laughter. The sight brings the first small smile to Jongkook’s mouth that he’s had all day. “Oh gosh,” he gasps, mopping up the beer he’s spat onto his jeans. “Wouldn’t it be perfect if it turned out she was the one who drank all your Red Bull?”

“Yeah but I doubt it, she’s so whole-grain organic she’d probably have a heart attack after one sip. No, I’m pretty convinced that was Chanyeol but like hell has he said anything about it yet. How else is a stoner asshole like him gonna manage to stay out partying until six in the morning?” Of course it had been Jongkook’s window he’d smashed after locking himself out, but that injury had already been aired and sympathised with. Jongkook’s laundry list of shit occurrences is already long without repeating things. “And then to top it all off, some dickwad at the bar earlier told me about the match results.”

“And?”

“We lost.” Jongkook heaves a sigh, kicks his feet against the battered sofa cushions, and rolls onto his stomach to reach his beer from the coffee table. “The Curse of Shin Jongkook has really fucking outdone itself this week. I just need to break a minor bone and lose some money and I think we’ll have full Bingo. Fuck, and then some assholes have the nerve to call me grouchy.”

Sejoon laughs again, this time a quiet huff of disbelief. “You’ve got a right to be, most of the time,” he says, but his lightly teasing tone just sort of hangs in the air. Jongkook props his sharp chin on his arms and broods down at his beer. Something’s scratching at the base of his spine, like an itchy tag in a new pair of pants, infuriating but embarrassing to dig out in public. He wants to squirm, and press his face into the comforting dusty smell of the sofa, and not come out again until the air is washed clean. Of course everyone thinks he’s moody - angry - always touchy; he’s honest enough to admit that he is but that doesn’t make it any nicer to be reminded of it. Even someone who never tried to rein in their bad mood - and Jongkook tries, bends every nerve of himself towards it at times, ties ropes to the end of his rope and gets to the end of that as well - wouldn’t really enjoy knowing that people dislike talking to them, dread having to go near them, always expect them to be snappy and rude and just generally unpleasant. It’s not nice, being that sort of person. The biggest piece of bad luck Jongkook faces is that it all too often makes him into someone he doesn’t want to be.

“They don’t get it,” he says. It comes out like a whine, and he cringes, but Sejoon nods, suddenly solemn. He reaches forward enough to clasp his hand around Jongkook’s ankle, gives his leg a little shake, and Jongkook squinches his face around just enough to see him. “It’s really funny for other people. I’m glad I’m giving them something to laugh at, at least, if I’m so unpleasant in every other way.” This time it is a whine, and the gentle shake turns into a reproving slap on his calf. Jongkook sighs a sigh of such length and dramatic emphasis that Sejoon knows it’s okay to sit back in his armchair, shaking his head with rather more affection than exasperation.

“We only laugh at you to keep from crying with you,” Sejoon intones. Jongkook tosses a bottle cap at his face, throws too hard and topples himself off the sofa with his beer upending over his torso.

“Yeah,” he says to Sejoon’s howls of laughter. “You look really fucking cut up for me.”


	36. Bar and Grill Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recently, an ask event was held on Tumblr in which the lovely boys of the Bar and Grill answered questions from their loyal customers. Please enjoy the face to face fuckwittery!
> 
> Second ask event will be held Saturday, 18th of July!

 

 

 

_I'm going to submit a bunch of asks for the Speed Bar & Grill crew but I won't see the answers because I leave for the wilderness in a few hours... hey since I'm thinking about it, who is the most outdoorsy?_

 

Yuhwan: Enjoy your wilderness adventure! There’s not a lot of wilderness around here to enjoy, sadly, but I cycle a lot and I love biking out to green spaces when I have time. I’d like to try mountain biking one day.

Jungwoo: Yeah, it’s probably Yuhwan…he has house plants and stuff…wants to buy an allotment and grow veggies…that kind of mother nature shit.

Sejoon: Self sustainability isn’t a bad thing by any means. I could imagine having a small holding somewhere, in ten years time maybe, living off the land -

Jungwoo: Oh you are so full of shit Sejoon, you’d freak out as soon as you couldn’t find a coffee shop to brood in.

Seokjin: I like winter sports, I try to go snowboarding once or twice a year.

Yuhwan:  _(with everyone looking askance at Seokjin)_  Really?

Seokjin: ….What?

Taeil: I’ve seen you nearly go ass over tit in the kitchen more time than I can remember and they let you up a mountain unsupervised?

Yukwon: I like to go running outdoors, take the dogs out, you know, but I think the outdoors is best appreciated lying in the grass in the sunshine.

Yoongi: With a blunt.

Yukwon: Yesss.  _(they high five)_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_Sejoon, what is your favorite cocktail? And what exactly are the ingredients for a "Zombie Party"?_

 

Sejoon: Well, I’m a whisky man -

_(at this point audible groans are heard from roughly half the staff members)_

Sejoon:  _(raising his voice)_  - so I prefer a well made whisky cocktail, usually with an American rye or bourbon. If you’re drinking the quality stuff, very little needs to be done to alter the flavours, so a subtle, minimal preparation appeals to me - I’m especially fond of the classic Sazerac, but my first choice will always be a perfect Manhattan: well balanced, smooth, and if it’s mixed just right (which most bars don’t know how to do) it goes down like - 

Jongkook: Like Hobi after a couple of vodka tonics.

Yukwon: Captain thinks no one knows how to make a good Manhattan except him.

Sejoon: Hey, I didn’t say that, I just prefer mine mixed in a very specific, classic sense - 

Yukwon: Remember when that dude brought his back and said it didn’t taste right? And then he asked Jongkook to make him a new one and said it was perfect?

Jongkook: Sejoon didn’t speak to me for like two days.

Sejoon: I saw you using the blended scotch! How can you make a Manhattan with blended scotch!

Jongkook: You can’t blame me for people’s bad taste!

Yukwon: As for the recipie to the Zombie Party, I think maybe it’s better for that to stay a secret.

Yuhwan: I agree.

Sejoon: I will tell you that it’s based on the classic Zombie cocktail, with a few of the rums swapped out for other spirits and a base blend of - 

Jongkook: Bullshit, I saw you make it the first time. You dumped all the dregs from every bottle in the kitchen into a saucepan, poured in like half a pint of grapefruit juice and lit it on fire.

Yukwon: I love when Sejoon gets drunk.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_Jungwoo - who do you like better, Yuhwan or Taewoon?_

 

Jungwoo: Oh really? Why would you…fuck, give a dude a break.

Taewoon: I’d say we perform different functions in his life, right bro?

Jungwoo: Yeah, like, Taewoon’s my bro, we go drinking and hang out and shit, and Yuhwan’s like…dude we’ve been friends since forever, I can’t…

Yuhwan: It really doesn’t matter who you like better.

Taewoon: Just pick Yuhwan or he’ll cry about it later.

Jungwoo: It’s like…like asking a sailor what he likes better, the sails that make the ship move, or the wheel that steers it.

Taewoon: ….Wow dude. You’ve been living with Sejoon too long.

Yuhwan:  _(petting Jungwoo’s hair soothingly)_  You don’t have to choose, it’s fine.

Taewoon: Dude just pick Yuhwan.

Jungwoo: Okay. I pick Yuhwan.  _(with his head on the table)_  Someone get me a beer now.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_Who eats the best outside of the restaurant? Like, who can and will actually cook for themselves?_

 

Taewoon: The chefs are staying remarkably quiet.

Taeil: We spend all goddamn day slaving over tarted up nonsense for other people, why the fuck would we want to chain ourselves to the oven at home as well? You go home and offer to pour people’s wine for them?

Minhyuk: I don’t even have an oven at home.

Taeil: Fuck no. Microwave a tin of beans, that’s about all the energy I have left for after a day of dealing with this bunch of slop brained imbeciles.

Hoseok: Seokjin-hyung lives wih me and Jiminie, he cooks all the time, actually. He made this awesome pasta dish the other day.

Seokjin:  _(a little embarrassed)_  That’s just to make sure you guys are eating properly though, I don’t really -

Hoseok: You ate like half of it yourself, liar.

Yukwon: I reckon I’m like, up there, I cook pretty decently. Try to use like, organic ingredients where I can. Me and my girlfriend are thinking of trying a vegan diet for a month or so, apparently it can have awesome holistic benefits.

Jongkook: You already do yoga classes with her, I’m starting to think we need an intervention.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_#Does jungwoo have a crush on any other idiot besides TaeWoon! !_

 

Jungwoo: Dude - okay, let me clear this up once and for all because there’s some shit going around -

Several other members of staff:  _(in weary unison)_  They’re just good friends.

Jungwoo:  _(glaring daggers)_  We spend almost every evening together trying to pick up girls, okay. Yeah, we’re good enough friends that we can, you know…

Kyung: Have gross sloppy make outs?

Jungwoo: Okay, yes we might have snogged once or twice, when we were drunk, who  _hasn’t_ drunkenly snogged their best mate -

Kyung: Oh yeah, right, it doesn’t count if you’re drunk, I forgot.

Taewoon: Watch it small fry, you’re not in any position to be making smart comments.

Jungwoo: I haven’t got a crush on anyone, seriously. Especially not the Sauropod of the floor.

Taeha: Question. Who was it, then, you were talking about at the Christmas party when you were crying into my shoulder about wanting to - what was it? -  _build a little home and keep him safe?_

Jungwoo:  _(appalled silence.)_

Taeha: I didn’t expect you to remember that. I’ll just say there’s one person in this place who Jungwoo has never once been rude to.

Jungwoo: Why can’t you stick to filing your nails and keep your mouth shut?

* * *

 

_Woo Bros: tell us more about the chicken incident when you were kids_

 

 

 

Jiho: Oh hell no, do we really have to - 

Taewoon: Okay so here’s the thing, every month we’d get to go to this special place down the street that did the most fucking amazing chicken you have ever tasted in your life, I’m talking oral sex worthy chicken - just once a month, cause, you know, Jiho puts on weight real easy -

Jiho: That is the pot calling - 

Taewoon:  _(covering Jiho’s mouth with one hand)_  - and we’d have a big meal and take home anything we didn’t eat, of course, because you don’t waste good chicken like that. So the morning after our monthly chicken feast I’m up early for classes while little brother sleeps sweetly - 

Jiho:  _(briefly escaping)_  I was up til like four in the morning studying, fuck -

Taewoon:  _(wrangling Jiho into a half nelson)_  - and I’m like, fuck yeah I’m gonna hit up some of that chicken for my breakfast, so I go to the fridge only to find an empty goddamn take away box and a trail of greasy chicken-stinking fingerprints leading to the culprit.

Jiho:  _(choking)_  Like you weren’t about to do the  _exact same thing!_

Taewoon: Man you know when you’re just so fucking hungry that anything seems rational? And he’d been such a fucking pain in the ass that week already, man, I just lost it. Lying there all sound asleep and happy with fucking grease on his mouth, believe me, you would have punched the fucker as well.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Taewoon, who's your favorite waiter? Besides yourself._

 

Taewoon: Oh man that’s like asking me to pick a favourite child!

Jiho:  _We are not your children stop being creepy -_

Taewoon: I can definitely tell you who my least favourite is. Man, they’re all good in their own weird little ways, you know?  _(at this point Kyung starts to look a little pissed off)_  Yoongi’s great for those tables of asshole businessmen cause he’s good at keeping a straight face and pretending to be a slick little suck up - I mean that as a compliment, dude, I suck at that - and Jiminie’s good with the ladies, not too greasy, you know, cleans up on the tips like no one’s business.  _(Kyung is looking more pissed off with each sentence.)_  Jihoonie’s just started but he’s picking things up fast and his tables always leave with these big dumb smiles, I guess it’s like being served by a puppy that’s learnt to walk.  _(Kyung is clenching his fists and turning a little red.)_  And yeah, I rag on Jiho cause he’s my brother, but when he’s not trying to freestyle rap the menu he’s reliable and fucking efficient, like, I can really depend on him to manage things when I’m not there. Uh, did I leave anyone out?

Kyung: I fucking hate you so much - 

Taewoon:  _(miming slapping his forehead)_ Of course, of course, how could I forget!  _(pulling Kyung in for a placatory hug)_  This one, he’s my boy, always game for a laugh, always got the smart mouth to cheer me up. He’s great with all the customers, he upsells like the devil himself and he brings a sparkle of youthful cheer into the life of a grey old man. My absolute favourite without a doubt.

Kyung:  _(preening)_  Thanks, douche.

Taewoon: After Sungmin, of course.

* * *

 

 

 

_Dear Kyung: what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Jiho?_

 

Taewoon: Told you it’d bite you in the ass.

Kyung: (weary sigh) Okay look, here’s the thing, me and Jiho have been best friends for a long time - 

Jiho: A really long time.

Kyung: It’s the kind of thing…you can’t put it in a box. Like, not that it’s literally anyone else’s fucking business in the slightest, and I wanna point out right now that no one’s chasing Kwonnie up asking him what his girlfriend is like in bed or anything - 

Yukwon: Fucking incredible.

Kyung: Asshole. Like I just don’t get why everyone feels the need for…relationships to be precisely pinned down and labelled, you know? It is what it is, and - 

Yoongi: Wait, hold on, your relationship isn’t pinned down?

Kyung: Huh?

Yoongi: I mean…aren’t you and Jiho dating? Isn’t that about as pinned down as it gets?

Kyung: Well…I mean…

Jiho: Not really, I wouldn’t call it dating - 

Yoongi: So when you come into work together wearing each other’s clothes, that’s just…?

Jiho: Yeah, well, we’re friends, we stay over at each other’s sometimes.

Yoongi: And when you stand with your hands in each other’s back pockets, that’s just friendly too?

Jiho: (embarrassed cough)

Yoongi: And when you get that evening off together every week it’s just a coincidence that you’re always doing something together?

Kyung: Hey, don’t come for us just beause you wish - 

Yoongi: I mean it all looks pretty much like you’re dating to me but then what do I know about relationships?

Jiho: Yeah, right.

Kyung: Look, it’s…honestly, it’s more than dating and calling it that kind of limits it, I think. (goes extremely red)

Jiho: (equally red)

Yoongi: Are you holding hands right now? You are, God, I hate you guys.

* * *

 

_Can we have a look into Minhyuk's blackmail records? A sneak peek?_

 

Minhyuk: Well, for obvious reasons I can’t reveal too much but I’ll show you a couple of my latest additions. Here, for example, we have a very nice picture of our dear head waiter, passed out at the last staff party, with an extremely graphic and detailed penis drawn on his face in lipstick.

Taewoon: I knew that had to be Jiho, no one else would have given it shading.

Jungwoo: Dude, wow, there’s the vein and everything. That’s impressive.

Minhyuk: Why Jiho had lipstick on him is revealed in this second picture, where we see the man himself and several of his ‘conquests’ displaying their messy kiss marks.

Sejoon: Why can’t I have one of the smaller boys climb into my lap, instead of Woo ‘Boa Constrictor’ Jiho?

Jaehyo: Your lap was not the only one he crushed that night. I still can’t really feel my thighs.

Minhyuk: Moving on, there’s a very interesting video of two certain good looking members of the kitchen staff admiring their own beauty in the bathroom mirror.

Seokjin: Oh dear.

Taeha: You should roll with me more often, you’re way more fun when you’re fucked up.

Minhyuk: As you can see, Seokjin let Taeha do his eyeliner. As you can also see, Taeha was in no fit state to be doing anyone’s eyeliner.

Seokjin: I hardly remember any of that night. I think we wanted to dress up but we were at Yuhwan’s and he didn’t have any fun clothes.

Yuhwan: Oh, that’s why my wardrobe was tipped out onto the floor.

Minhyuk: At this point they start touching each other’s faces so I’m gonna stop it there. Don’t want to waste my good material.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_In a cake bake-off between Jin and Taeha what would they make, who would judge, and who would win (aside from everybody)._

 

Seokjin: Hm. My speciality is red velvet cake, so I’d probably make that: double layered, with raspberry jam and cream between the layers and the required lashings of cream cheese topping. Simple, but melts in your mouth. Perhaps with small chocolate chunks in the sponge itself so it could melt while it was cooking and every so often you’d find a litle surprise piece of chocolate in your mouthful in between the moist sponge…

Minhyuk: I think we’ve lost him.

Taeha: I’d make a fucking seven layered multi-coloured gin and tonic cake with gin cream, cucumber jam and rose petals. 

Taeha: Fucking look at that monstrosity. There’s booze in it which will put the judge in a good mood, thus endearing him towards me. And there’s enough cream and shit on it that he’ll probably get sick before he can judge anyway.

Seokjin: I think we’d have to let Yuhwan judge, he really likes his cake.

Yuhwan: I am more than happy to oblige. Seokjin, don’t you want to up your game a little bit in response to this?

Seokjin: I’m going for simplistic perfection over showiness. I’ll make a simple, elegant cake, cooked to perfection.

Yuhwan: As for who would win, well, you’ll just have to both make your cakes and we’ll find out!

Taeha: Or you could say me, since I’m the fucking desserts chef and I’ll quit if you don’t.

Seokjin: I’m sure Taeha would, he’s got more experience than I have.

Minhyuk: That’s the understatement of the year.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_What kind of technology does everyone (okay not necessarily everyone that's a lot) have? Do they all have the same phone kdrama style? Namjoon still loses his I'll bet, is anyone walking around with his lost phone(s) like finders keepers?_

 

Jaehyo: The staff here range along a wide scale from ‘totally incompetent’ to ‘techno genius’. At the one end we have our resident dinosaur Taewoon although I think the reason he never gets upgraded phones is because the keys are too small for his giant fingers.

Taewoon: Watch it, nerd.

Jaehyo: At the other end there’s people like me and Taeha - modern, sophisticated men who like to stay up to date with technology and get the latest models when they’re released.

Kyung: That is not the reason Taeha gets a new phone every month.

Jaehyo: Ranging along the middle there’s those who go for functionality and affordability over appearance - like Jongkook, who is on his fourth phone of this year after, what was it?

Jongkook: Two bike crashes and one mugging.

Jaehyo: Damn, you have it bad.

Namjoon: I’m on my third phone because, yeah, I lost the first two. One when I was coming home drunk, and the other - well, I didn’t lose it, I dropped it in a toilet.

Jaehyo: How do you drop a phone in the toilet?

Namjoon: You know, I was…it was in my back pocket and…it just kind of slipped out.

Jaehyo: I don’t get this, I’m not exactly graceful myself but I’ve never once dropped my phone.

Jungwoo: I’m pretty sure your phone is glued to your palm.

Jaehyo:  _(checking his phone)_  Don’t be ridiculous.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_fundraiser event! A famous kpop group (mamamoo? the ark?! david bowie?!?! idc) wants to hold a celebrity bartender event to raise money for… uh… How well can Sejoon and the rest handle it?_

 

Jongkook: Well first off it had better be a girl group, it’s about time we had some chicks around this place.

Yukwon: What would be the point? Me and Hoseok aren’t interested, you’d find a way to embarrass yourself, Minnie would wet his pants and Sejoon would bore them all to death.

Hoseok: Plus those heels would be a death trap on our bar floor.

Sejoon: Is the premise that the celebrity will be working behind the bar with us?

Jongkook: That sounds like it would be like, the longest, most annoying trial shift ever. Even more annoying than Jungkook’s was.

Jungkook: I got the job didn’t I?

Jongkook: Do you know how desperate we were?

Hoseok: So basically we’re working all evening with someone who hasn’t got the first clue of what they’re doing but they’re a celebrity so we have to be really nice to them and pretend they’re doing all the important work?

Yukwon: Dude, for Bowie I would let him take the credit for every drink.

Jongkook: As long as it’s, like, Mamamoo or someone then I’m down, I’ll show them how to shake it up real good.  _(mimes wrapping his hands around what can only be assumed is an imaginary cocktail shaker)_  That’s right baby, hold on tight.

Sejoon: Don’t be vulgar.

Jongkook: Sejoon would just bluster at them and pretend he was above checking out their bums when they bent over the ice tray.

Sungmin: I think it sounds like fun. We could teach them the basics, and maybe they’d be impressed with how good we are, and, I dunno, maybe they’d ask us to come bartend for them sometime - we’d probably get to be on tv as well, if it was a charity event!

Jongkook: Eyes on the prize Minnie, like it.

* * *

 

 

 

_I want to hear a bit more about this blackmail folder of Minhyuk's. Who is the most screwed if his info gets out? Just, yeah - more dirt on who he has dirt on. He's like a fart silent but deadly..._

 

Minhyuk: Well, I already gave a little bit of a peek into it, but since you’re asking…

Taeha: He’s fucking loving this, the bastard.

Minhyuk: There isn’t a single person in the restaurant I don’t have at least something on, except for Jungkook, I don’t fuck with minors.

Sejoon: Blackmail would be useless on him, he doesn’t do what anyone says.

Minhyuk: It’s an interesting question. I have most on…Taewoon, I think, and Jungwoo, but that’s no surprise because their life is basically one big carousel of getting pissed up and embarrassing themselves. So they have thicker skin, and wouldn’t be too ashamed if most of this stuff came out.

Jungwoo: What do you mean, ‘most’?

Minhyuk: Sejoon takes himself pretty seriously, so he’d be fucking mortified, but I don’t think I’d ever have occasion to use it, he’s a good guy, I’ve never had beef with Sejoon.

Sejoon: Can’t you just delete it then?

Minhyuk: Better safe than sorry. I think I’m gonna have to say Taeil.

Taeil: You motherfucker -

Minhyuk: He’s got a big front to keep up, a lot of people to intimidate, and I think I could reduce his fear factor to practically zero with some of these pictures. His rage keeps the kitchen running like clockwork, so I allow it for now, but if he ever crosses the line - 

Taeil: I’ll cross my filleting knife across your guts you tight-jeaned smarmy prick -

_(At this point the Head Chef descended into a volley of unrepeatable obscenities during which Minhyuk smirked and carried on looking through his phone.)_

* * *

 

 

 

_To anyone or everyone tbh- what is the best/funniest work or drunk story you have about Kyung?_

 

_(This answer was preceeded by a five minute shouting contest between everyone who wanted to tell their favourite story.)_

Jongkook: (waving for quiet) I think I have the motherlode here.

Kyung: (fuming) You bunch of rotten motherfuckers.

Jongkook: So, about eight months or so ago, we decided to have the staff party at my place - I live with like, six other people so we don’t usually, but nearly everyone was away that weekend. Because it’s like a flatshare, we don’t have much in the communal area, no tv, no video games, so we decided to play some drinking games instead.

Sejoon: I can take part credit for this, I think.

Yukwon: You really do turn into an evil genius when you’ve had a few.

Jongkook: Yeah, it was Sejoon’s idea to bring back this game we used to play in college. It’s called Messy Head, because that’s what it gives you, and it’s an unholy blend of Ring of Fire, Truth or Dare, and -

Jungwoo: Vomiting.

Jongkook: A lot of vomiting. So what you do is, you each take a slip of paper and write out a few rules and then throw them in a hat and pick one by one. And basically whatever the outcome, you have to drink. It gets out of control quicker than anything - within like, two minutes of starting we were making Sungmin lap a shot of vodka up out of a saucer like a cat, Taewoon swapped shirts with someone and burst the seams.

Yuhwan: I liked that shirt.

Jongkook: Now I live with this one girl, she’s super cute and funny and nice but she’s really shy, and she’s always saying to me how she wants a boyfriend but she’s too nervous to ask anyone and blah blah blah. So I thought I’d be a good friend and send her a little present in the form of one of my friends, and see how they hit it off. I wrote down, ‘go to her room, ask to borrow a shirt and flirt with her’.

Jungwoo: This was going to do her a favour how?

Jongkook: Well, I didn’t expect the paper would be drawn so late - by which point everyone was pretty wasted - or by Kyung, who was maybe the most wasted of the bunch, due to an earlier rule which forced him to go toe to toe with Taewoon in a chugging contest.

Taewoon: I tried to refuse, he was the one determined he was gonna give it a shot.

Jongkook: So Kyung staggers off, and I’m thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea, but I’m drunk too and if I got up Sungmin would have stolen my couch spot so I just let it be. The game progresses. After like, half an hour, we suddenly realise that Kyung hasn’t come back.

Kyung: Half an hour guys, thanks a fucking lot.

Jongkook: So I get up to go find him, hoping my room mate hasn’t beaten him to death with a shoe for trying to flirt with her. Open the door to her room and what did I find?

Kyung: Oh God.

Jongkook: Kyung had not only borrowed a shirt, but also a skirt, a cardigan, a pair of socks and a cute little pair of heels. _(general howls of laughter from the audience)_  She was doing his make up, he had a little pink bow in his hair - the works.

Kyung: I don’t even remember agreeing to this!

Jongkook: Funny, because she said it was your idea? She said you were going through her wardrobe looking for a shirt and then said  _(affecting girlish tones)_  “ooh, that’s a pretty skirt, can I try it on?” Turns out my room mate is a big fan of drag queens, and she did a right number on our Kyungie.

Jungwoo: Hands up everyone who said they would fuck him in drag. _(Four of five hands go up)_  Okay some of you are liars but okay.

Jongkook: So I go up trying to act like I’m not seeing the pink frilly skirt and ask him, all calm, if he wants to come back and join the game or stay here. He thinks about it real hard for a moment and then - totally fucking seriously - says, “Yes, they need to see how pretty I am as a girl.” He wobbles to his feet, drags my poor room mate along with him, and we go back into the living room. The very first thing we hear?

Taewoon: Stripper’s arrived!

Jongkook: King of tact Woo Taewoon, everyone. So Kyung comes in, but suddenly he gets all shy - but not like, I’m embarrassed because I’m in a dress shy, but like, coy, and fluttery, like an actual girl. He’s wobbling all over the place in these heels he can’t walk in, and we make him do a little catwalk up and down the room. Near the end, of course he fucking trips up, plants himself straight into Yuhwan’s lap.

Yuhwan: I did dry heave a little bit, I admit.

Jongkook: So he’s struggling himself upright, all clinging around Yuhwan’s neck, getting lipstick all over his chest - which is naked, remember, because Taewoon ripped his shirt apart - while Yuhwan sits there being politely terrified and with the worst case of hover hands I’ve ever seen. And Kyungie - bless him for this - leans his head against Yuhwan’s collarbone, looks up with these big eyes, and says, “Oppa…

Kyung:  _(loud anguished groaning)_

Sejoon: To make a long story short, once we’d peeled Kyung away from Yuhwan he went to sit next to Taewoon, and for the next hour all we heard was giggling as Taewoon tried to put his hand up Kyung’s skirt.

Taewoon: I only wanted to see what he was wearing under there.

Kyung: My underwear, pervert!

Taewoon: Are you really going to have the cheek to call me the pervert here, Miss March?

Yuhwan: How’s your house mate doing?

Jongkook: Oh, she’s good. Turns out she was a lesbian all along.

* * *

 

 

 

_taewoon, is it hard to work with your little brother and kyung, since you've been in each other's lives since forever? do either of them try to get away with stuff the other guys wouldn't?_

 

Taewoon: Ah, I think we rub along pretty well together, despite the occasional screaming match. We’ve known each other so long I guess we’re used to each other’s irritating habits and shit, like, before Kyung even started working here I knew I would have to remember to give him his break like clockwork, even if it’s busy, because he gets ratty as fuck when he hasn’t eaten. And I had to keep an eye out for Jiho and make sure he didn’t take up smoking because of his shitty lungs. But yeah, they’re good dudes and they work hard, you know? It’s a professional environment and we all work professionally together in it.

Jungwoo: If professional is slapping every ass within reach and telling Jiho you wish he’d been a still birth - 

Taewoon: Oh come on dude, I was really angry, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that right lil bro?

Jiho: I guess.

Taewoon:  _(flicking his brother’s cheek)_  Don’t be a grouch. As for getting away with shit they shouldn’t - well, to be honest I’m probably harder on Jiho than anyone else, so he doesn’t even bother.

Jungwoo: That is completely true.

Taewoon: And Kyungie tries to pull shit with literally everyone, he has no shame or sense of restraint when it comes to getting free food or drinks, or women’s phone numbers. It’s a full time job just keeping an eye on that little bastard.

Kyung: That’s a lie, you let Jimin get away with way more shit than you ever let me.

Taewoon: Yeah, because Jimin isn’t doing it to be a shit. He’s innocent; you’re evil.

Kyung: I’m still your favourite.

* * *

 

 

 

_I know Mama Woo visits the Bar and Grill on occasion, and was there for it's beginning, but do any of the other staff's parents ever come there to eat / check the place out?_

 

Jimin: My parents are really excited to come see the place! It’s a long trip for them but they’re already looking forward to it, I’ve told them everything about it here!

Kyung: My family ate here once but my dad said he thought he was putting me off so they haven’t been back. They loved the food though.

Yuhwan: Because us older guys were at school together, a lot of our parents know each other. My mum and Jungwoo’s occasionally get together and get day drunk here, which is adorable but a little bit embarrassing.

Jungwoo: My mum has the hots for Sejoon. Enough said.

Taeil: My dad runs one of the biggest name restaurants around here. I banned him point blank from ever coming here. Jaehyo has his picture in the reservations book so he knows not to let him in.

Seokjin: Why wouldn’t you want -

Taeil: Because I’ll have to listen to a shitty seven hour lecture about how everything was wrong because it’s not the way he does it, that’s why. Fuck no. I spent plenty of time working under my dad, this is my turf.

Jongkook: My parents were going to come once, but then we had that power cut.

Jungwoo: Jeez, shitty lucky really runs in your family.

* * *

 

 

 

_What are the waiters' best tactics to get the biggest tips?_

 

Taewoon: I just go with what feels natural, and it turns out that being fucking stunningly charming comes naturally to me. (cheesy grin) It’s an emotional game, you know, you’ve got to make them feel like you specially invited them here and are really thrilled to be looking after them. You gotta pick your target - some people just want to eat and don’t wanna be schmoozed over, but some are here for a proper ‘experience’ and they want the attention.

Jiho: I don’t know, I can never predict who’s going to tip and who isn’t. If it’s, like, middle aged women I’ll be a bit cheeky, they like that - 

Kyung: A bit of flirting never hurts.

Jiho: Right? But you have to be careful because one too many bottles of wine and you’re not just getting tipped, you’re getting groped.

Kyung: With guys as well, it’s - guys don’t tip as much as women. You can flirt with them but you’ll get weird looks.

Jiho: Like that ever stops you.

Yoongi: If it’s a guy with a girl, and he’s trying to impress her, then you act like he’s the big shit, you know, calling him ‘sir’, and then he’ll usually drop you something.

Kyung: Or those massive groups of businessmen who just want to get pissed up, just pretend you’re in the spirit with them and keep bringing them shots.

Jimin: I just try to be really polite and look after them properly, and make sure they’re enjoying themselves.

Taewoon: Literally all you have to do is smile and people empty their wallets. Kid’s got the magic touch. There’s one thing we can all agree on though, the holy grail of the hardworking waiter. American tourists.

Jiho: Oh fuck yes, they always leave great tips.

Kyung: They haven’t got a clue about the money half the time.

Yoongi: Or you catch them when they’re about to fly home so they offload their loose change. You don’t even have to be that nice to them.

Taewoon: We split all the cash tips evenly at the end of the evening anyway, so stuff like that gets shared out.

Minhyuk: Wait, you split the tips? Then what’s with the leaderboard counting how much everyone made?

Taewoon: That’s just to keep them on their toes. Bit of healthy competition never hurt.

* * *

 

 

 

_So with all the new hires, are there any contenders for the misfortunekookie title?_

 

Jongkook: I wish.

Sejoon: Yeah, Jongkook has a really specific and bad case of shit luck. I don’t know where it comes from.

Jongkook: I must have been a real asshole in a past life. It’s not even like, really bad things happening, that’s the shit part. If it was like, illnesses and people dying then I might get some fucking sympathy but it’s just small shitty annoying things going wrong, fucking constantly.

Sejoon: If there’s a fishbone left in the staff meal, it’ll go down Jongkook’s throat. If you shook up a can of beer and mixed it up with ten other identical ones he would pick the one that’s going to explode on him, every single time.

Jongkook: Seriously is it any wonder I’m pissed off? Especially when I’m working with these two assholes and their fucking golden touch.

Yukwon: I keep telling you man, it’s not about your luck, it’s about how you approach it. You’ve got a negative mindset and it attracts negative energy.

Jongkook: Oh, this shit again.

Hoseok: He might have a point dude. Like, remember the other day when you were mad about the delivery coming so late and being held up for your lunch break? And you were so busy snorting and swearing about it while you were carrying shit downstairs that you missed the bottom step and bought it?

Yukwon: Yeah, like, the angrier and more stressed out you get, the more shit you break. You have to chill down, man, let it all flow.

Jongkook: I’m so sick of you stoner assholes.

Sungmin: I…kind of agree, actually, like, I don’t mean to offend you but you know, we work side by side a lot and I see you getting wound up really easily, and…and maybe if you took a step back and calmed down, you know, you could just shake it off?

Jongkook:  _(with deliberate calm)_ Okay, okay, I get you. Now listen. This week my landlord put my rent up. One of my house mates broke the toilet and didn’t say anything so the bathroom is now flooded. I sliced my thumb open cutting fruit and had to restock the entire dispense bar because I’d bled all over everything, and some asshole stole the lights off my bike, for the fourth time this year. So which part of this do you think I should ‘step back’ from?

_(everyone edging nervously away)_

Sejoon: Your past life self must have been a bastard of the highest degree.

* * *

 

 

 

_I would pay money to hear Jiho freestyle rap the whole menu._

 

Jiho: Yo wassup - 

Kyung: No, don’t.

Jiho: Welcome to the SPEED Bar and Grill - 

Yoongi: Oh fucking seriously?

Jiho: That’s S-P-double E-D -

Taewoon: I’m gonna set your bedroom on fire.

Jiho: My name is Zi-a-Co and I will be waiting on you this evening -

Jihoon: I think it sounds kind of cool!

Taewoon: Don’t encourage him Jihoonie.

Jiho: You’re all just jealous of my sick flow.

Yoongi: Sick flow in that it sounds like you’re vomiting, maybe.

* * *

 

 

 

_This one is for Yoongi: how do you manage to work with a bunch of outlandish assholes all the time and why haven't you kicked taewoon's ass yet?!_

 

Yoongi: Honestly I find just about everyone ridiculous and irritating, so I’m not even sure if their behaviour is considered outlandish. When I joined, everyone had known each other for a while already, so they’ve got their own in jokes and boundaries in place. I’ve had to adjust a bit here and there but I think I’ve got it figured out now. Just be quick with a joke, take a bit of teasing with good humour, turn your back on anything you don’t want to be involved with. It’s always okay to get up and walk away.

Kyung: And here was me thinking you were silently plotting to murder us.

Yoongi: Nah, I figure natural stupidity will do for you long before I could come up with a good plan.

Jiho: Yoongi only pretends to be the normal one, anyway. He’s secretly a freak like the rest of us.

Yoongi: Please back that statement up.

Jiho: Every break time you huddle in the corner on your phone and don’t talk to anyone. What are you doing? What are you hiding

Yoongi: I’m working, Christ, it’s not a matter of national security. As for why I haven’t kicked Taewoon’s ass yet  _(Taewoon rises from his seat like a monolithic pillar emerging from the deep sea)_  I think we can be realistic here and say it’s because he’s twice my fucking size and would probably kill me.

* * *

 

 

 

_has anyone been genuinely close to being fired or quitting for good? and if so what kept them around?_

 

Yuhwan: There have been a few occasions here and there - I wouldn’t say anyone’s been close to being fired, but there have been some very stern, last chance warnings handed out over the years. I feel I’m lucky as the manager here, in some ways, because we know each other so well, so the staff aren’t as lackadaisical as they might be elsewhere, and if someone says they need a few days off for personal reasons, for example, I can give it to them and know everyone will be understanding about it.

Jungwoo: Yeah, the one thing these guys don’t ever do is fuck each other over. 

Yuhwan: Exactly, so whatever happens, we usually know there’s a good reason for their behaviour. If there isn’t…

Jungwoo: That’s only happened a couple of times, when someone was really taking the piss. We talked about it and they got their shit together, thankfully.

Jongkook: It will surprise no one that I almost got fired. Typical shit luck.

Sejoon: You were going through a really rough patch, it was more like a suggestion that you take a month or so off and come back when you were up to it.

Jongkook: I’ve got rent to pay man, that was the scariest shit I’d ever heard.

Taewoon: Jiho got close, for sure, when he first started and thought he could just goof around.

Jiho: Hey, this was my first job, I didn’t know how I was supposed to act!

Taewoon: Didn’t take it seriously in the slightest, kept showing up late in like, fucking red Jordans and ripped jeans. I was gonna fire him myself.

Jiho: That meeting with Yuhwan, dude, I’ve never felt so small.

Sungmin: I think I was close to - well, not being fired but I thought they were gonna ask me to leave after a month or so, I sucked so hard at everything.

Sejoon: That was partly our fault though, we were stretched so thin we didn’t give you proper training. Although I do remember wondering if maybe you just weren’t cut out for bar work. Some people aren’t.

Taewoon: I’m surprised me and Jungwoo didn’t get fired after that night we slept in the door way.

Yuhwan: You two should think yourselves very lucky that I can’t really fire either of you without shooting myself in the foot.

Jungwoo: It’s cute when you get all authoritarian

* * *

 

 

 

_this is for everyone but seokjin: is he still oblivious about yoongi's crush on him? alternatively, is yoongi still denying the existence of said crush?_

 

_(This question was answered in a hushed rush while Seokjin used the bathroom.)_

Taewoon: Dude, he hasn’t got the first fucking clue -

Taeha: Bullshit, he’s not as innocent as he pretends. He knows.

Yoongi: How the fuck would you know?

Taeha: Because I can see his ears get red when you’re lurking around the kitchen. Stop doing that, by the way, unless you want to explain to our customers why their soup is full of vomit.

Yoongi: _(glaring furiously)_  I’m over it anyway.

_(various sarcastic noises of pretended agreement)_

Kyung: I mean, you seemed pretty happy to snuggle up with him at the last staff do.

Yoongi: He was fucked off his face, he grabbed hold of me, what was I gonna do?

Kyung: Sit in his lap and let him nuzzle your ear, apparently.

Yoongi: He physically  _dragged me into his lap_  - 

Kyung: Yeah, yeah. If you can get away from Taewoon when he’s drunk then Seokjin shouldn’t have been a problem.

* * *

 

 

 

_so we've seen there's been a little healthy... rivalry between yukwon and hoseok, but they seem like they've been agreeing recently--does that mean they're actually (no scheming behind the scenes) getting along?_

 

Yukwon: Yeah totally, we’re all chill and cool now. I think it was just a clash of personalities, you know - 

Hoseok: Rivalry, definitely. I had the same problem with Jongkook.

Yukwon: After the shift with the power cut, that was when we really got talking properly. Turns out we have a whole bunch in common. Share a joint with someone, really helps you get to know a guy.

Hoseok: Yeah, the pot definitely helped. When there’s tension like that, you’ve either gotta talk it out or fight it out, and I’m so glad we did, it was getting to be really hostile behind that bar.

Yukwon: As long as no one tries to tell me he’s better at making coffee than me, all’s good.

Hoseok: I hope you guys know that I wanted to be friends from the start. I didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes, I just wanted to be good at the job. I looked up to you guys, really.

Yukwon: See, it’s that kind of talk that makes me want to hit you all over again.

* * *

 

 

 

_Oh my god does Zico rap the menu to blind/vision impaired customers or does one of the staff just read it normally_

 

Jiho:  _(with the sudden excited alert face of a dog who’s heard the word ‘walkies’)_

Yuhwan: Oh no, did you really have to -

Jiho: Yeah but how fucking awesome would that be?

Yoongi: Come to our restaurant blind, leave it deaf as well.

Jiho: For someone who refuses to step up you’re running your mouth a lot.

* * *

 

 

 

_Opinion on Jiminnie. When is he the cutest?_

 

Taewoon: Ahh, are you kidding me? The kid is adorable morning to night, look at this face!  _(rubbing Jimin’s cheeks between his hands)_

Jimin: Hyung, that kind of hurts…

Yuhwan: He did bring me a potted plant last week to apologise for throwing up on my sofa. That was very sweet.

Jungwoo: Would have been cuter if he hadn’t puked up in the first place.

Jimin: (still trying to struggle away from Taewoon) Ohh, I hoped you wouldn’t bring that up, it was so embarrassing. I’m really sorry for the trouble -

Taewoon:  _(manhandling Jimin)_  Look he’s going red now  _Jesus fucking Christ you’re adorable._

Yuhwan: Okay, no more beer for Taewoon tonight.

* * *

 

 

 

_Do you guys have any favorite regulars who come into the bar? Any funny stories about that?_

 

Hoseok: JOKWONNIE!

Sejoon: Oh yes, I haven’t seen him for a month or so.

Yuhwan: He owns a bar a couple of streets away, we’ve been friends for a while. He likes to come in and get tipsy on gin and sodas, and try to poach my staff to table dance for his club.

Hoseok: I love him. I want to be him when I’m older.

Jongkook: Every time he’s in here he hits on Sejoon and tries to persuade him to swing for the other team.

Yukwon:  _(imitating Jo Kwon)_  Still treading the straight and narrow? Ahh, such a loss, such a handsome boy.

Sejoon: It’s not for lack of trying on his part.

Taeha: He put eyeliner on me for the first time.

Yuhwan: Eh? You’ve been wearing eyeliner for as long as I’ve known you,

Taeha: Yeah, I’ve known him a while.

Yuhwan: Really? Where did you meet?

Jungwoo: I don’t think that’s a train of conversation we need to pursue.

* * *

 

 

 

_Does..... The staff have a thing with pulling Yoongi onto their laps??? I need to know. For science. Also has anyone dared call him cute yet and also who finds him cute. Again for science_

 

Yoongi: No, I do not allow myself to be pulled around and grappled with like some people do, nor do I whine about it whilst secretly really enjoying the attention.  _(looking hard at Jimin and Kyung)_

Seokjin:Oh God, of course, that party - I’m so sorry about that, I was not in my usual state of mind.

Minhyuk: Of course you weren’t, it was your first time on that shit and Taeha gave you like three times what he should have.

Taeha: You got an experience, Yoongi got to sit on your lap, I don’t see what I did wrong.

Seokjin: I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I just needed someone to hold onto, it felt like my head was going to fly off.

Yoongi:  _(somewhat strangled)_  It’s fine, Jesus, just forget it.

Taewoon: I’ve been trying to get him to take a seat here for ages, it’s so unfair. As for your second question I don’t know why everyone’s assuming Yoongi’s some kind of tiny powerhouse that we’re all afraid of. I mean, sure, his glaring could bore holes through a brick wall, but he’s like, half-pint sized and probably weighs about as much as one of my forearms. I’ll call him cute all I want and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Kyung: I definitely remember Seokjin saying something about ‘cute tiny pink elves’ when he was fucked up.

Seokjin: _(going red)_  Did I? God, I don’t even remember what I said.

Kyung: Definitely, it was, something something tiny pink elves, and also how soft and warm -

Yoongi: I’ll kill you myself, I swear.

Jiho: What was that about being able to take teasing?

* * *

 

Many many thanks to everyone who participated and sent int questions! If you missed out this time, never fear! There will be another in-house Q&A session this Saturday the 18th of July. Leave your questions in the comments below or throw them into our [suggestions box](http://johannbuddenbrooks.tumblr.com/ask)! Happy drinking!


	37. I Don't Like Mondays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Taewoon is alone on the floor and the customers just won't stop coming.

With the light morning-dim and the windows dulled by the grey sky outside, the restaurant is a warm cocoon away from the miserable, drizzling rain. The sleepy, just-open air is still a bit stale from its rest overnight, and it makes Taewoon yawn as soon as he steps through the door. When it slams shut behind him the clattering noises from the bar stop, and Sejoon appears, waving a clipboard at Taewoon. He’s dressed down as usual for the Monday morning stock check, in a grey shirt and a cardigan, and he looks about as awake as Taewoon feels.

“Coffee?” he says by way of greeting, as Taewoon slopes over to the bar and drapes his upper body over the marble countertop. He doesn’t wait for a reply. The silver machine and dark streams of liquid blur in and out in front of Taewoon’s half-open eyes. Sejoon tips a little cold water into the espresso and watches Taewoon knock it back and let out a hearty cough. “Are you on all day today?”

Taewoon grunts, shakes his head, rubs hard at his eyes. “Should have brought a book or something. Nothing like a Monday double to wind down a shithole of a week.” Jimin had been away for the past four days, and with Jiho and Kyung claiming the weekend off for a show they were doing, Taewoon’s suffered through one too many late nights to be enthused by the prospect of waiting on an almost-empty restaurant. Still, better this than another night like Saturday. There had been an event of some kind at the gay bar down the road, so the restaurant had been jammed with pre-drinkers, which wouldn’t have been so bad in itself except that one of them happened to be their own manager. “Man, I’m fucking beat. Seen Yuhwan this morning? Is he still hungover?”

“I think he’s recovered enough to start feeling embarrassed,” Sejoon laughs.

“He fucking should. My arse is still sore from JoKwon’s groping, and all that punk did was stand there and laugh.” Tugging his shoulders back with a groan, Taewoon slaps the bar with an open palm and forces himself upright. “Right. Better fucking get to it. Don’t think I’m in the mood for any inspirational speeches today.”

“Let’s rock this shift,” Sejoon mumbles in a vague imitation of their manager, kneeling down to count bottles in the wine fridge. Taewoon gives himself the luxury of a few moment’s more gentle swaying before he jerks a bit of energy into his protesting muscles and heads for the waiter’s station.

He has a tea towel to hand when the door clicks open a few minutes before ten, and their first customer of the day nearly gets it right in the face. But it’s not Yuhwan, as he’d expected; it’s a family of four, the mother fussing with her younger daughter’s soaking hair while the father takes off his glasses to wipe the rain away. “Hello - sorry, are you open? It’s just foul out there, and these two need some lunch.”

Taewoon just about stops his eyebrows from popping up in surprise, and with a well practised sort of mental shudder he slips straight into his service-face and bows. As he leads them to a table he throws a baffled look over at the bar. Sejoon shrugs with equal bewilderment and begins to roll up the sleeves of his cardigan.

“That was unexpected.” The chinking of cups echoes around the otherwise empty space as Taewoon sets down cappuchinos and cokes onto a tray. “Thank God for something to do, though.” Sejoon’s heavy eyebrows twitch with something between humour and foreboding.

“Famous last words,” he chides, folding his arms as Taewoon dismisses him with a nonchalant flap of the hand.

He’s about halfway back to the table when the door clicks open and shut again, and another sodden family wander through the reception area and out onto the floor. “Sorry, you are open, yes?” The mother’s voice is somewhat strained through her heavy accent, and the chubby boys at her side have red rimmed eyes from a recent bout of bawling. Something in Taewoon’s chest sticks for a moment. He’s not the most intuitive or sensitive of men, but when you work in this industry for a while you can get a feel for how a shift is going to go. And Taewoon has a horribly sudden revelation that these two early, damp arrivals are laying down a pattern for the rest of the morning.

The next time he even gets a chance to look at the clock, three hours have flown by. The balls of his feet are burning, his wrists feel permanently crooked from being bent under a tray, and despite the cool weather there’s an unpleasant dribble of sweat running right between his shoulder blades and between his buttocks. He spares a single minute to gulp down the ice water Sejoon’s been replenishing every half hour, rubbing at his temples hard. It does nothing to alleviate the clattering noise of the all too full room.

“Excuse me!” someone hollers from behind - actually hollers, although they’d need to, to be heard over the din of cutlery and exasperated mothers and squalling toddlers, and Taewoon meets Sejoon’s apologetic eyes with a stare that is borderline murderous before he manages to switch the smile back on and attend to the customer. If the yelling wasn’t enough, the man is clicking his fingers in the air as well, and Taewoon thinks as he rushes over about how satisfying it would be to snap those fingers off one by one.

“Can I help?” he says, instead of committing an act of gross violence, and he’s truly impressed by how little sarcasm bleeds into his voice.

Unsurprisingly, the problem is about how long they’ve waited for their meals. Taewoon promises to have a word with the chef, although when he thinks about Taeha soldiering on alone in the kitchen and the state of fury he must have worked himself up to by now - when the place gets too busy, the kitchen have a habit of blaming the waiters, as if they should be turning people away when there are empty tables - he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead he gives Sejoon the nod to telephone down to the office, where Yuhwan can drag his nose out of his paperwork and at least call in reinforcements. Seokjin arrives ten minutes later, hand frozen midway through scraping back his unwashed hair when he sees the state of the floor. He shortcuts the staff room and all but runs to the kitchen, ditching his bag behind the bar.

“Yuhwan said he couldn’t get hold of Yoongi, or Kyung,” Sejoon says as Taewoon takes a moment by the bar to wait for his knees to stop shaking,

“Little fucker’s probably dead to the world - fuck.” The door swings open again and Taewoon only just sucks back the stream of obscenities that rises to his mouth. He grinds his teeth behind the customers’ backs as he skirts past six year olds mashing their food into the table cloth and a table of five sour-faced grannies who have been nursing their coffees for nearly an hour. Yuhwan would certainly come upstairs and give him a hand if he asked, even though it’ll mean he’ll have to stay late to get his own work done, but by this point it’s beyond a matter of pride.

The rush doesn’t start to die off until well past three, by which point even Sejoon’s good-natured eyes are twitching at the edges. He’s been abandoning the bar whenever drinks aren’t required, but he’s not used to the floor, and the lack of a physical barrier between him and their foot-tapping, tutting, grumbling customers is clearly grating his nerves to a fine point. Neither of the chefs are talking to them after Taewoon belted out an ill-advised warning about what would happen if another dish took more than half an hour to appear. Taeha had slammed the service hatch down within a hair of Taewoon’s fingertips and even Seokjin had raised his voice enough that Taewoon could clearly hear him calling him a bad mannered prick. Once he’d wrestled his way through stacks of invoices Yuhwan had chipped in for ten minutes, but his rabbit-in-headlights eyes when he appeared on the floor were so distracting that Taewoon was almost glad when a typically badly timed delivery dragged him away again. Yuhwan’s polite perkiness is not what Taewoon wants to hear, not after six solid hours of sweating balls. He’s aching all over and dizzy with fatigue, and every last one of these customers can go and fuck themselves.

“Thanks, hope to see you again!” he lies through his forced smile as the last family leave. He lets the door fall shut behind them and promptly lets rip the loudest fuck work he’s ever produced. “I fucking hope JingJing spat in their food. All of their food. Fucking hell, what a morning, what a goddamn piece of shit asshole of a - ”

“I hope you’re not talking about our valued clients with that language,” an obnoxious little voice pops up. Kyung’s infuriatingly fresh-faced and looking around the destroyed tables with the most obnoxious look of disbelief, but he’s in his uniform, with a cleaning cloth in one hand,  _half an hour early_. Taewoon’s so tired he thinks he must be seeing things. “What the hell happened here? Did we finally have a strip show and no one told me - ”

He shuts up when the full weight of Taewoon knocks all the air out of his lungs. Taewoon can hear a muffled noise coming from his armpit, possibly something about not being able to breathe, and ignores it in favour of squeezing the little bastard with all the remaining strength left in his arms. “Holy fucking cow, I never thought I’d be so goddamn pleased to see your stupid face, Kyungie.”

After a few raw gasps when he’s finally released, Kyung rubs at his neck and straightens out his shirt, trying to look like he’s not pleased. “Yeah, well. Papa sounded like he was gonna cry, I thought I’d better get here and save your asses pronto.”

“You’re a diamond. A true tiny gem.”

“Oh right, he turns up half an hour early and you’re in love with him, while I’ve been here slaving since eight and got nothing but a barrage of abuse.” Stripping off his filthy jacket, Taeha stomps across the floor, red-cheeked and almost matching the head chef for his expression of sheer rage. “I’m _exhausted_ , and I smell  _gross_ , and you didn’t even say _thank you_  - ”

Taeha’s angry, but he’s also tiny, and it’s no effort for Taewoon to bundle him up as he tries to storm past, oblivious to the shrieks of fury and the tight fists pounding at his shoulders. “Thank you,” he croons. The sudden release of all that frustration has him light headed, or maybe it’s the hunger. He can feel the tension rising off him like steam, leaving his skull curiously empty. “Thank you, my most awesome little chef in the world, we did it, we made it.”

Once he’s wrestled himself away, Taeha gives Taewoon a sulky, half-hearted punch to the stomach and leans back against the banisters. “I hate today. I’m going the fuck home.”

“Enjoy sleeping, whoever you’re doing it with,” Kyung calls after him, cackling at the middle finger Taeha waves back. Without ado he starts clearing dishes from the nearest table, nudging at Taewoon with the tip of his shoe. “Go on, you should go lie down. We’ve got forty covers booked in for this evening already.”

It’s unfair of Taewoon to give Kyung a dead arm for reminding him that he’s working the evening as well. But it’s also unfair that the morning was so beserk, and that no one could come in to help out, and that Sejoon is sitting with his head on the bar and a crisp bottle of beer at his elbow. It is, however, perfectly fair that no one who arrives for the evening shift can use the staff room. As bolshy and arrogant as some of the staff can be, no one is brave enough to poke a sleeping bear.


	38. Some Things Never Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through AUs untold and YoonJins unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the Bar and Grill beyond the Goblin City. And I am so glad to be back.
> 
> After an extended sabbatical we finally return to the SPEED Bar and Grill, to find that Jungwoo is still hungover, Taeha is still a snark monster, and Jongkook still has the worst luck in the world.

Taewoon can always tell which manager is opening based on the atmosphere that wafts out of the office. He only has to open the door the merest crack. If it’s Yuhwan, the inside of his nose stings with a blend of lemon air freshener and fly spray, because none of the older staff members will listen to his warnings about what happens when you leave old sandwich wrappers and empty cans of Red Bull lying around. There’s a waft of the first morning latte, lovingly crafted by the B1A4 baristas and drunk in secret before Yukwon’s feelings can get bruised; a subtle undertone of Yuhwan’s crisp aftershave, and a merry clack of computer keys as he bustles on with the morning business.

Today, the door opens on gloom, dust, and a mouldering aroma which means the windows haven’t been opened yet, made heavy and cloying by the cranked up heating; as the temperature outside drops, the stone walls of the basement office get grave-cold. A monotone hum, a faint whisper of burnt toast, the gym locker reek of old shoes, and even before he hears the groaned greeting, Taewoon knows he’s going to find Jungwoo in his customary morning position, slumped over the desk with a banana in one hand and a drink which is about ninety five percent sugar in the other. He pats in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, sets up a screeching through-the-teeth whistle and slams his way into the office with enough force that Jungwoo actually moves at something approaching a human speed.

He only lifts his head high enough to see who’s interrupted his power nap. Then he groans again, or maybe it’s the hot water pipes gurgling. His eyes are red-rimmed and there’s a mashed bit of banana at the corner of his mouth. Taewoon grins, drops a hand on his shoulder.

“Good morning beautiful.”

“Ass fucker,” Jungwoo says in response. It’s not the halfway friendly greeting Taewoon usually gets, but then the cocktails the night before had been largely his idea, so he forgives it.

“Ah, come on. It can’t be that bad.” Jungwoo winces and clutches his temples as chair legs scrape along the wooden floor and Taewoon juggles his bag, coat and plastic bag. “Look, I got some of the orange fizzy stuff, and a couple of Red Bulls, and a fresh pack of cigarettes. You’ll be fine by lunch time.” He lines his gifts up along the desk top, wrangling the laughter out of his mouth at the thoroughly hangdog expression Jungwoo casts from under his lank fringe.

“Did you get any - ”

“Aspirin.” The box is barely out of Taewoon’s grasp before Jungwoo’s shoving two pills into his mouth with a grateful heave. “Don’t say I don’t have your back, dude.”

“You could have had it last night and not bought me another three fuckin’ Martinis.”

“Come on man. Dara was mixing them, she could have been serving you fresh piss in a glass and you’d have drunk it ‘til dawn. Don’t give me that shit.” Ignoring the hiss of pain the slap between the shoulderblades evokes, Taewoon pops open his own can and knocks back a couple of painkillers. He’d had the day off, and a heavy lunch, so he’d handled their binge rather better than his friend, but hangovers can be sneakier than Park Kyung in the way they creep up on you. Better safe than sorry. “Stop being pathetic. Sejoon’s nearly got the coffee on the go, I’ll bring you one down.”

“If we get a shit ton of walk ins today.” Jungwoo doesn’t bother finishing; the threat is both implicit and futile.

“I’ll cover you while you cry into Yuhwan’s clean shirts. Got it. Have fun with the reservations!”

He leaves Jungwoo clicking hopelessly through the clunky website they’ve started using for their reservations, on Jaehyo’s insistence - naturally, no one can find their way around the thing except Jaehyo; in spite of his insistence that it’s 'super intuitive’, it’s had even Yuhwan cursing at it. Given Jungwoo’s current state, Taewoon makes a mental note to double check their paper copies and prepare for unexpected bookings to turn up. The host isn’t due in until later in the afternoon, and he’s not sure Jaehyo’s pride will stomach another foul mouthed invective against his love affair with technology.

The bar is already lit up and gleaming, and Sejoon’s white shirt is a beacon in the otherwise dim restaurant as he bustles to and fro, juggling cocktail shakers and measures and steel containers full of last night’s limes. With a soggy piece of clingfilm in one hand and knitted eyebrow he’s peering over some unpleasantly squashed looking fruit, muttering something exasperated about day dots and, “- going to kill someone one day, I swear - ”

“Whose death are you plotting, eh?”

One day, Taewoon promises himself, he’s going to surprise Sejoon and make him tip brackish water and three day old fruit all over his white shirt. Up until now, the reverberant walls of the restaurant and his own heavy feet have stolen the element of surprise. Sejoon just looks up, clicks his tongue and empties the container out. “Not me. These kids and their out of date fruit. I don’t know how many times I need to tell them, there’s such a thing as an expiry date.”

“Maybe you should start plotting violence. Always works with my lot. You should tell them,” and Taewoon draws himself all the way upright and pulls his eyebrows together, booming his voice until Sejoon begins to roll his eyes, “I am a dangerous man.”

Sejoon does his best not to laugh, fails miserably, hides it with one hand and a turn towards the coffee machine. The dregs of the morning test batch are still dribbling from the handles, the smell of slightly over-roasted beans and steamed milk clear from across the bar. “Want a - ”

“Yes.”

LUNCH

The spit and hiss as the beef hits the grill, the shock of steam that flies up and dampens Taeha’s cheeks, the rich salty swirls coming off the fresh batch of soup; the kitchen is running like a freshly oiled up war tank today. He just wishes their head chef were there - not working, just tied to a chair in the middle of the room so he could watch how well things were being handled in his absence. Taeha’s been working in the same kitchen with Taeil for nearly three years, just a bit longer than Minhyuk, and it’s only in the last few months that Taeil’s agreed to relinquish his death grip on the Friday and Saturday shifts - to take, if not a backseat, then at least one shifted a few inches away from under his team’s noses, and trust his staff to manage. Yuhwan likes to say that responsibility is a fertiliser for ability. Taeil swears up and down that if his dog hadn’t gotten sick that first time, if he’d been able to get a vet’s appointment on any other day, this never would have been allowed to happen. Taeha and Minhyuk agree with each other: they’ve always known they could manage, and nothing - not the compliments from the customers or the new respect from the waiters - quite beats the half-constipated, furious at his own emotions expression they get to see when Taeil finds that everything’s gone smoothly.

Over the clatter of pans and the whirr of the fans, it’s hard to hear much from the floor. Taeha kind of likes it that way. Even he can only stomach so much of Taewoon and Kyung’s crude sexual innuendo, and he’ll never know how any of the waiters keep their composure after hearing the same question a hundred times in the space of two hours. From the open kitchen hatch, he can just look out at the crowded floor and see a steam-smudged, glinting picture of harmony: the waiters in their white shirts and black aprons humming about like mechanical dolls; a hundred different heads and hands all there to enjoy the same things, the things being seared and stirred and slick-handed into being by himself and Minhyuk. Removed but essential, the kitchen is the eye of the storm, and Taeha’s infinitely comfortable in their heated little bubble.

“Service,” Minhyuk drones; he doesn’t need to be heard, the bell on the countertop does that for him. He’s swiping a few stray spots of sauce from the rim of a plate as Kyung waltzes into view. Either his regular date night with Jiho was especially pleasant, or he’s responsible for looking after the group of chic-looking twenty somethings on table twenty four. His smile is turned up to full watt, and he blows a kiss in Minhyuk’s direction as he arranges the plates along his arms.

“Thanks babes,” and he leaves, bopping his hips to the languid rhythm of their afternoon playlist.

“No problem, babes,” Minhyuk says to the air, and turns back to the vegetables steaming in chafing pans. “Guess someone got dicked down last night.”

“Hm. I thought it might be that one table. The ones who look like a twink boyband dipped in street goth.”

“Jealous?”

“Cunt.” Taeha licks off the back of a spoon, savouring the depth of the sauce, and throws his eyes over to table twenty four again. “The one with the chin’s kind of cute but I generally like guys with pubic hair.”

The ticket printer spews forth another order. Absently Minhyuk tears it off, hooks it up on the rack, browses across the outstanding tickets while he rolls up an omlette, throws some seasoning across it and nudges the heat down. As busy as it is, they’re well practised enough that a well prepared shift can float by like a dream. If everything is in reach and where it should be - which it is, finally, ever since Taehyung joined the waiting staff and Jungkook got all the stroppiness yelled out of him, enough that his genuine interest and good work ethic could bypass his natural instinct to be a shit - they barely have to think about what they’re doing. Taeha’s hand finds the knife he needs, makes clean slices through the steaks, and he doesn’t even need to take an eye off the soup still boiling away - or his other eye off the boy at table twenty four who Kyung’s handing a cola with much more prolonged eye contact than is strictly necessary.

“I guess Kyung’s not so fussy about pubic hair,” Minhyuk says.

“He’s probably that kind of asshole who likes everything shaved clean.”

“He’d love your asshole then.”

It’s a true testament to their skill and devotion to their jobs that even the hail of beef offcuts Taeha hurls in Minhyuk’s direction doesn’t hold them up for longer than thirty seconds. They’re both still grinning as they resume work in silence, and even if they remain mostly stoic to the waiters and their stream of affectionately teasing patter, there’s a glow in the kitchen which isn’t just from the heat of the stoves.

DINNER

The dimmed lights cast everything in an amber glow, stainless steel winking and the glass fridge fronts smirking under a thin, sticky layer of grime. It’s warm behind the bar, all sleeves rolled to the elbow, sweating glasses of water stuffed by the sink, but everyone’s moving in an easy drawl. After a spate of holidays, the bar team is finally back to full capacity and even on a packed out night, they’re all taking it a little bit easy. They’ve earned it, after all; Jongkook’s looking forward to an extended weekend after eight days straight, and Sungmin’s already blinking blearily in anticipation of a full night’s sleep when he knocks off at ten. As the early evening rush dies away, Yukwon and Sejoon are taking care of the trickle of orders while Sungmin straightens out the dispense bar, listening to Jongkook ramble through a mouthful of rice and chicken about his team’s latest crushing defeat.

“I don’t get why you don’t just switch teams.” He dips his head to check the amount of cut fruit and mint they have, and to hide the quirk of his mouth at Jongkook’s muffled noise of outrage. “I mean, they never seem to win - ”

“The ref was biased, Minnie, the dude was onside by a fuckin’ mile - and that red card earlier, man, I haven’t seen someone pull a dive like that since fuckin’ Hoseok called in sick after the 2PM karaoke night. Man.” His spoon scrapes out the last mouthful and he sucks it in, staring over the rim of his bowl with his trademark look of frustrated bewilderment. “You think my shit luck is infectious?”

“It’s not been that shitty lately, right?”

Jongkook has to admit, there’s an ever-present knot in his stomach which has loosened of late. The yoga-obsessed girl has vacated her dog-fart smelling rooms, gone back to live with her parents after the independent health food shop she’d been working at closed down and real life proved too much of a challenge for someone accustomed to spending up to six pounds on a single smoothie. The heating’s been fixed in his room just in time for winter; he hasn’t broken any minor bones in nearly three months; the annual October flu going around the staff had passed over his head without so much as a sniffle. Best of all, the extra responsibility he’d shouldered while Sejoon took two weeks to get shit-faced in Berlin and Yukwon went to visit his parents had paid off, in all senses. If anyone wanted to accuse him of crying, he would swear to his dying day that it was just because of the pay raise, and nothing to do with the glowing words of praise from Yuhwan.

Still, he’s learnt through repeated encounters with misfortune that it’s best to never get complacent - and besides, he has something of a legacy now. Being a magnet for bad luck sucks, but sometimes the bizarre convergence of fate and poor decisions lead to the best after work stories, and that’s a throne he’s unwilling to give up. With his best weary air, he pats Sungmin on the shoulder, discards his empty bowl on the side of the bar and leans back against the sink to cast a thousand yard stare across the floor.

“Sometimes, you’re just storing something up, you know? And then you take a really huge shit later on and fuckin’ wreck your bathroom.”

Sungmin mock-gags into the ice well. “Gross.” But he’s still grinning and Jongkook can’t help but smile as well. The shift’s gone beautifully, he’s got a full stomach, and it looks - apart from his football team’s persistent failures on the pitch - like things might finally be taking a turn for the better.

“Who knows, Minnie. Maybe it’s a new chapter for me. Maybe I’ll land a sweet job and a hot girlfriend and finally get rid of the rash on my ass.”

“Maybe you’ll stop talking like a toilet,” Sungmin mutters. “And if I had wheels I’d be a wagon.”

“Dream big, kid.” Jongkook’s throat still stings a bit - from the spice on the chicken, he tells himself, not from the rare burst of raucous laughter that rips out of his throat. Sungmin earns a gentle cuff on the arm for his irrepressible smile, and then he turns to the speed rail where a fresh batch of fruit juice is being lined up. “Ah. My old friend vitamin C. Hand it over.”

Sungmin passes the bottle of orange juice with his teeth dug into his lower lip. “I’m not sure it’s fresh. Me and Kwonnie were a bit - uh, we had a few drinks while we were closing, we forgot to date everything so it might be…”

“Let’s find out!”

Jongkook doesn’t need to shake the bottle as hard as he does. Sometimes there’s only one way to deal with unusual feelings of bubbling glee: to release them, in small, harmless bursts of energy, to temper rising feelings before they flood you and make your hands slip and your feet stutter. It’s a form of caution, in a strange way. He puts his thumb over the top of the pourer and shakes that orange juice like he’s about to douse himself and everyone behind the bar in a jubilant spray of top-shelf champagne. The most surprising thing is that after years and years of suffering at his own clumsy hands, he’s still shocked enough to screech as a litre of week old, half-fermented orange juice rushes up the neck of the bottle and showers him from head to toe. The one small consolation is watching Sejoon double up with laughter so violently that he drops his full shaker on his own foot, soaks his shoes in a wave of egg yolk, whisky and sugar syrup, and stumbles back into Yukwon who drops straight on his ass in a filthy puddle of crushed ice.

“What’s going on back there?” Yuhwan calls across the bar. Jongkook looks up from behind his dripping hair at Sungmin’s quivering mouth, at his knuckles twitching on his knees as he bends every muscle in his body towards not dying with laughter.

“Don’t you say a fucking word.”

Staff members have moved around here and there; the menu’s been updated, the drinks reinvigorated; the bookings keep piling up and the SPEED Bar and Grill continues to grow and develop. Every day there’s a new group of customers, a new series of requests, a new set of challenges to be surmounted. Even as the town spreads around them, suddenly vibrant with small, independent ventures, with young men and women just like themselves, trying to make their dreams happen with nothing but hard work and passion to push them along - even though they seem to be moving upwards, sometimes faster than anyone can keep a hold of, so they find themselves with queues that stretch along the pavement and Jaehyo tearing his hair out trying to seat fifty people in a space meant for forty; even though their progress never seems to halt - Jongkook takes a sort of resigned pride in being living proof that some things never change.


	39. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hoseok has a big fucking mouth, Seokjin is nosy and Jimin is an adorable drunk.

By the time Hoseok finishes his shifts, pounds a couple of beers with Kyung and Taeha, makes a brief stop in at 2AM to say hi to the head bartender and show off his new haircut to Jo Kwon, and picks up enough booze from the dodgy off license which never asks for his ID, it’s getting towards ten thirty. He stumbles in the front door, kicking at the bottom where it tends to stick, with carrier bags weighing down his arms and a fuzzy tongue. The unfurling smell of spice and heat from the kitchen encloses him like a duvet. Somewhere in the living room someone scrambles up, knocks over the wonky standard lamp, and swears.

“Jimin.” Seokjin hums his disapproval in a soft and absent tone, barely audible over the eighties pop music which is shaking the floorboards. Hoseok kicks the door shut behind him, takes a second in the hallway to steady himself. The smell of cooking makes his heart rate kick up a notch, or maybe it was the little bump he had in the ladies’ toilets with Cheetah, but he won’t be held responsible for that. When Cheetah holds out her hand and tells you to sniff, you do it without question.

“Hobi!” Jimin yells, appearing in the doorway a second later with the cable from the lamp still wrapped around one ankle. He’d had the day off - supposedly for studying but the droop at the corner of his eyes is enough of a giveaway that he’s still getting over his night out. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe and reaches down, fumbling at the cable and muttering, but not for long enough that he forgets to flash a grin up. “How’s your day?”

“Fucking long.”

Mustering his strength, Hoseok hauls his shopping back up and shoulders past Jimin, leaving him wobbling and yelping against the wall as he tries to disentangle himself. The living room is a hectic sprawl of colour and smell. Taehyung’s beaten up khaki rucksack is still spilling its contents across the floor, its owner most likely still sleeping off his comedown in Jimin’s bed. A collection of tattered textbooks litter the kitchen table, displaying well meaning stripes of highlight. The same colours are laced up one of Seokjin’s forearms, visible in the light from the stovehood as he stirs something in a pot; clearly either him or Jimin had got bored while studying and decided to play ‘tattoo artist’. Hoseok dumps his bags on the single chair not piled with someone’s clothes and falls back onto the air mattress which still hasn’t been put away. It creaks and puffs under him.

“Was it busy today?”

Hoseok brings his chin down to his chest enough to squint up at Seokjin. The light of the stove is giving him a pleasant halo effect, fuzzy in Hoseok’s half-cut state. “Nah. Not even. Just fucking dragged. Know how they turned down that massive booking like a week ago because they thought they’d lose too much lunch trade?”

“The big group of guys from the tech company?” Having freed himself, Jimin wobbles over, picking up his plastic tumbler of orange juice and some sort of spirit. As he lowers himself onto the air mattress, Hoseok clutches at the space in front of him, and Jimin willingly, if unsteadily, tips a little of the drink into his waiting mouth. “I thought they said no because of the thing with Jihoonie.”

“What thing with Jihoonie?”

“You’re such a bitch, hyung.” Seokjin half-turns at the insult, wooden spoon raised, mouth open in indignation, but he gets nothing more from the pair sprawled on the floor than knowing eyes and a smirk. “You always say you hate people gossping.”

He waves his utensil, flicks his hair out of his face, and makes this little frustrated noise when it’s clear they’re not buying it. “I wasn’t gossiping, I was just expressing interest.” Then he turns back to dinner, and Hoseok snorts and rolls over to rest his head on Jimin’s thigh. He keeps his voice well audible anyway.

“The thing where Jihoonie’s daddy owns the restaurant. I think everyone knows, like, it used to be this big secret but it got out somehow - ”

“I heard Jiho got drunk and told everyone. They knew each other from school, right?”

“Really? I heard Mino blew his cover the first time he came in. Their place hasn’t been open as long, right, and he used to come in and then Jihoonie started working there.”

“The three of them knew each other, right? I know they used to let Mino drink in there, when he was underage. That’s where their thing comes from, about - you know, swag isn’t a replacement for ID.”

While he speaks, Jimin carefully administers another dose of vodka and orange. Once he’s stopped coughing up the drop that went down the wrong way, Hoseok nods and flips onto his front. Jimin’s thigh is as comfortable as a bolster pillow and the air mattress makes him feel like he’s floating in a big pool. With the buzz running through his veins and the warm, sleepy smells of the kitchen, it’s just about bliss. If Seokjin would just switch off his power-pop shit for some good chill out music, he’d be in heaven.

As if on cue, Seokjin wipes his hands on a tea towel and goes to fiddle with his phone. The Pointer Sisters cut out abruptly and after a few moments, a glitchy, static-filled beat kicks in. Hoseok points his toes until the arch of his foot begins to cramp and then lets go, and a beautiful looseness steals up his limbs. Nosy or not, Seokjin is fantastic at reading moods. “Anyway, they turned down the big group booking?”

“Yeah. So they were thinking, like - maybe the Jihoon thing as well but also, it’s Friday, you know, and payday weekend too, so they thought they’d lose a shit ton of customers if they let the whole place be booked out. But then, dude, you saw when you woke up this morning?”

“I woke up two hours ago.”

“Not you, Jiminie.”

“Oh, I get it. Yeah, it was filthy. Were you okay getting in?”

“Yeah fine, I - remind me to pick your umbrella up tomorrow though, I think I left it at 2AM.”

“You fucker.” Seokjin’s neck and ear rove into Hoseok’s tipped-sideways vision as he swoops in to move the bottle of vodka out of Jimin’s reach. “That’s enough. You haven’t finished your essay yet.”

Jimin giggles and flops backwards; the whole air mattress bounces, and Hoseok finds his head coming into unpleasant contact with Jimin’s knee. He pulls himself upright then, annoyed, and finishes the screwdriver in one swallow, ignoring Jimin’s pouts. “Anyway, yeah, so it fuckin’ pissed it down earlier and it was dead all morning. Captain went to do some paperwork shit and just left me on bar, I nearly cried. So then Kyung comes over and starts telling me how Jaehyo was super pissed with them all along for making him say no, cause apparently this company are setting up some new headquarters and they’re going to need reception staff and, you know what a fuckin’ nerd he is, he was hoping to maybe get some numbers, and he’s like, they did this on purpose because they don’t want me to leave and apparently Taeha told him no one would go to that effort just to keep him around and he threw this big fucking tantrum about it - ”

Seokjin clicks his tongue. He’s on the floor with them now, keeping one eye on the pots bubbling away behind him and the other on Jimin who’s still making feeble, giggly attempts to claw back his bottle of supermarket brand booze. Without looking away from either, Seokjin unscrews the lid and takes a hearty swig himself. There’s a red colour at the top of his cheeks but Hoseok always finds it a bit hard to tell if Seokjin’s actually drunk or just overheating, especially when he’s in a strange state himself. “I keep telling Taeha not to wind him up like that. It’s not nice.”

“Dude, I couldn’t do what Jaehyo does. He deals with so many assholes, right, and all these insane requests, like - like how are you gonna keep a straight face when someone’s asking, like, can you accommodate us at your, like, ninety percent meat-based restaurant and by the way I’m a gluten-free vegan? I don’t know how he doesn’t pop a vein, and he has to deal with Namjoon on top of that - ”

“Who’s the bitch now?”

“Hey, I didn’t say I don’t like Namjoon.” Hoseok points a finger and, finding it far too stable, hauls himself across to pry the vodka out of Seokjin’s hand. “But he’s a lot to deal with. I mean, I work with Sejoon, I know the definition of 'a lot to deal with’. And Jaehyo’s gotta stand with him all day sometimes, man, he must have infinite patience.”

“I just figured he wasn’t listening to him most of the time.”

“That’s how you deal with him, huh?” The only way to answer Seokjin’s attempted look of disapproval is with an obnoxious grin. For that, Hoseok finds himself shoved back to join Jimin on the mattress, while Seokjin gets up to tend to dinner. In retaliation he palms Jimin the vodka bottle. “Anyway, fuck, can I finish my story?”

“I’m all ears.”

“So then Taeha and me and Kyung were drinking after the shift and he’s like, you know Jaehyo’s never gonna leave, not until the girls from the flower shop actually say to his face that they’re not interested, and we’re just laughing about it and then like, literally out of nowhere, Taeha gets all super serious and tells us all this stuff about how Jaehyo used to be like, hot shit online? Like he was one of those internet faces and he did amateur modelling and all of this stuff? And we’re like, you mean porn? And he’s like, no, just that kind of lifestyle blogging, you know? Him and Minhyuk found all his old profiles, and he’s telling us all this really detailed shit about - I don’t know, so apparently he stopped doing it because an ex posted like, revenge porn?”

He mostly stops there for breath, but it’s an effective narrative pause anyway; he can hear whatever it is in the pots slowly swish around, and Jimin releasing a slow, shaky breath next to him, and Seokjin’s slippered foot tapping against the floor tiles. Once he’s noticed it, he holds it for a little longer, swaying slightly on the unstable mattress. He knows he’s talking too much; his mouth feels warm and slippery, his tongue a bit too big to fit inside it, and the connection between his brain and his throat seems to have been severed. The words are just spilling out, without much thought, and maybe he’ll regret it later but right now the way his chest feels like it’s emptying bit by bit, and the captivated faces of his friends, makes it worthwhile.

“Revenge porn?” Seokjin prompts. Despite his stated aversion to gossip his eyebrows are about as high as they can go, and he hasn’t noticed the liquid beginning to bubble over the side of the saucepan.

“Yeah, so someone he was with posted some pretty graphic shit after they broke up and it ended up on a few sites, so then he like, deleted everything and went really lowkey, and I guess he does everything under a different name now, so. But Taeha told me, that’s why he’s not trying so hard to get another job, whatever he says - cause if you google his name, a lot of it’s not that hard to find and I guess tech companies probably know how to dig that shit up. Anyway, Jaehyo knows he knows, and that’s why he was so pissed, not because of the booking thing.”

“I’m confused.” After a few too many slugs of neat vodka, it’s no wonder. Jimin rolls onto his front and makes an unpleasant gagging noise which prompts Seokjin to his feet.

“That actually explains a lot.”

“Like why Jaehyo won’t put his name on the website? Yeah, right? I’d be fucking worried, in that situation.”

The stove whirrs and dies. Seokjin clatters through the rack of clean dishes and begins digging up portions as Hoseok hooks his arms under Jimin’s armpits and drags him back upright before he can chunder on himself. “Funny how little you can know about the people you work with.”

“Oh, you can always find things out if you know who to talk to.”

“I feel blessed not to have any skeletons in my closet.”

“Nope, not one.” Hoseok waits until his bowl is in his hands and Seokjin’s safely seated at the table and blowing on a spoonful of food before he finishes his sentence. “Just a nine inch dildo.”

Jimin laughs hard enough then that he begins to struggle for breath, and only the necessity of keeping him calm stops Seokjin from responding with what Hoseok can clearly read in his narrowed glare: that if he ever hears that information being spilled at the bar counter after hours, Hoseok won’t live long enough to find out how far the gossip spreads.


	40. Ramshackle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow missed this one from a while back. For this prompt: the managers have a night on the town.

For once, Sejoon’s right to be apologising. True, his apology sounds less sincere, interspersed as it is with muffled swear words and rustling as he shifts around trying to find a cool spot on the pillow, but Yuhwan appreciates it anyway. He lies back against his own pillows, phone on speaker and tossed next to his head, and holds one hand up in the air so he can examine the purpling ring of toothmarks indented around his thumb. The painkillers in the bathroom cupboard flicker in his thoughts. So near, yet so far away.

Sejoon lets out a long sigh on the other end of the line, ending with a sort of mumbled moan. “Ugh. I really didn’t think they’d take it so far.”

“Yeah, it’s very unlike Taewoon to get drunk and forget he has about thirty pounds on everyone else.”

“Hey, I took the brunt of that, really,” Sejoon says, vaguely offended through the blocked nose. “He crashed right on top of me, I think I’ve slipped a disc.”

“Serves you right,” Yuhwan laughs, and then remembers his head is on the verge of splitting open. If he hadn’t grown up with most of his senior staff members, if his position of authority over them had meant anything more than that they had considered him the right one to take it, he’d be calling his head waiter and chef in that very minute, regardless of his or their hangovers, for a serious disciplinary. As it is, all he can really do is laugh.

 

Once the staff meeting was done and Jungwoo had slouched off to the office, Yuhwan just had to wait for the inevitable invitation. It was usually only possible to coax Taeil into coming to a staff meeting if drinks were planned afterwards, and since Taewoon and Sejoon also had the evening off they had certainly already started plotting.

“You’re coming out, yeah?” Taewoon said as Taeil disappeared back into the kitchen to drill his more than capable chefs in the exact routine they were to follow in his absence. He did this every evening he wasn’t working, even though everyone knew that within an hour of his leaving, Minhyuk and Taeha would have both been out for smoking breaks and cajoled a drink out of the bar staff, and Seokjin would have found a spare fifteen minutes to cosy himself up next to the big stove and dig into a bowl of something warm.

Yuhwan nudged a couple of chairs back into the right places then turned to give Taewoon a double thumbs up. “KimWoo’s taking on tomorrow morning. You have full management permission to get me absolutely hammered.” It isn’t often he’s at such a liberty, and Taewoon expressed his delight at the rare pleasure by giving Yuhwan a hug around the neck that nearly choked him.

“Beautiful. We’ll bring him home a present to say thanks or something.”

“I swear Jungwoo only turned down the general manager position so he could make Yuhwan the designated driver,” Sejoon said.

This is about half-true. It would be more accurate to say that, after being well acquainted with Taewoon and Jungwoo’s adolescent drinking habits, they all knew that putting Jungwoo in charge was only going to lead to disaster. Not that Yuhwan didn’t trust his friends, but he trusted Jungwoo’s estimation of himself when, in their final discussions about who would take which role in their soon to open restaurant, he’d cast his eyes across the table, clutching his fifth beer of the evening, and said, “You do it, bro.” Yuhwan sort of thrives on the responsibility, but it’s nice to have a chance to go out with the boys once in a while. Especially when he’s spent months listening to Jungwoo’s long rambling stories about their hilarious drunken antics while he was trying to count the night’s takings.

Jungwoo had looked utterly despondent as they left the restaurant. The floor was filling, albeit slowly, and so far everything looked like it was ticking along nicely, but from Jungwoo’s face anyone would think they’d received a terrorist threat.

“It’ll be good for you, bro,” Taewoon said, slapping him on the shoulder with a cruel indifference to his friend’s plight. “Bit of responsibility, minding the kids, you know. By the way, Park Kyung has been sneaking off to look at his phone all day, keep an eye on him.”

“And make sure that bar brat stays the hell out of my kitchen, whatever fucking Taeha says about training.” Taeil peered around Jungwoo to scan the restaurant floor. Jungkook, skittering towards the kitchen, got caught in his glare and ran for cover behind the bar. “The day that cock combing little snot gets in the kitchen is the day I turn a boning knife on my scrotum.”

“He’s enthusiastic.”

“If you would keep your fucking staff in line, Sejoon, I wouldn’t have to deal with Oh JingJing bitching about how he wants a trainee.”

“We all know why Taeha wants a cute kid to train.” Taewoon gave Jungwoo’s arm one last unsympathetic pat and dug into his pockets for a cigarette. “Come on, let’s fuck off before Jungie starts crying.”

“It’ll be fine,” Yuhwan said.

 

“You said it’d be fine if you came out with us. I figured you were referring to Jungwoo’s night.”

Yuhwan rolls over onto his front. He really wants Taewoon to shut up. The painkillers he’d managed to retrieve had done something for the pounding headache behind his eyes, but their effect is being destroyed by Taewoon’s unceasing laughter. “It got a bit - out of hand, but - “

“Out of hand, are you kidding me? You were trashed kiddo, you weren’t stopping anyone - don’t worry, you don’t need to say sorry. If anyone should be apologising it’s fucking Sejoon, Christ - I didn’t know he was secretly such a cunt - ”

“Taewoon,” Yuhwan says, as firmly as he can manage. He pinches hard at the bridge of his nose. “Can you keep your voice down a bit?”

“Ah, sorry man, you must be hanging like fuck.”

He really is, and Yuhwan wonders how Taewoon, who definitely drank at least half as much again last night as he did, can be so loud and cheerful in the morning. A swishing sound and a swallow comes from the other end. Yuhwan’s eyebrows drop. “Are you still drinking?”

“No,” Taewoon says.

“If it helps, Sejoon doesn’t sound too happy this morning. He apologised quite a lot.”

“Yeah, fucking about right. I always fucking tell him, midnight is the wrong time to move to smart drinks, it’s not early or late enough, you know - ”

Yuhwan closes his eyes during Taewoon’s discourse about correct drinking habits, thinking it’ll take more than a half-stoned scheme of Taewoon’s to keep Sejoon away from high shelf whiskies when he’s already finding it hard to pronoune the word ‘triple distilled’. One thing about being the manager was that although he had given the “pre-drinking with Taewoon” brief a number of times to new and impressionable members of staff (all of whom, if stories and pictures and the things on the staff noticeboard were to be believed, totally ignored everything he told them) no one had ever given it to Yuhwan. It takes on a new clarity whenever he experiences it for himself. Even on staff nights out, he tries hard to keep himself in an appropriate state of alertness. Yuhwan’s lucky enough to be built for a long period of happy, somewhat-fuzzy inebriation; it takes a while - or a lot - to push him into true sod-out drunkness. This is not the case for a number of his staff members.

 

 

“Stage three,” Taewoon said. It was ten past twelve in the evening. While Taeil leathered into the pinball machine opposite them, Yuhwan was propping himself up with an elbow on the bar opposite Taewoon, who’d hunched forward to spy on Sejoon. The girl behind the bar was starting to drum hot pink nails against the bartop as Sejoon scrutinised the labels on bottles of spirits. “We’ll tip stage three if we get spirits now,” Taewoon muttered.

“Meaning?” Yuhwan just had his nose at the top of his glass, waiting until the vodka fumes didn’t make his head spin so he could take another sip. “I’m already on spirits.”

“It’s just bullshit Taewoon made up, don’t listen to it,” Sejoon mumbled beside him. He put the two bottles back on the bar. “This one.” The bartender’s heavy liner doesn’t quite hide how hard she rolls her eyes. Yuhwan takes the tumbler plonked in front of him with apprehension, already smelling the dryness of the spirit. “Taewoon’s got this stupid theory that you have to drink the right thing at the right time, or everything gets out of control - as if everything doesn’t get out of control with him anyway.”

Taewoon nearly elbows the glass out of Sejoon’s hand as he twists on his stool. “Okay, okay, that is vastly unfair - remember when we were already on our way home and then you had that dumb idea to get a bottle of your gross fucking scotch and me and Jungwoo both fell in the river - “

“First of all, you pushed him in, and secondly you’re not supposed to swig scotch straight from the bottle - if you’d treat quality spirits with some respect - ”

“I’m not taking that shit from the inventor of the Zombie Party, how much fucking quality spirit do you dump into that hideous swill - ” Yuhwan winces just from the memory of the night Sejoon unveiled this notorious concoction. Their head bartender looked so reliable and trustworthy at first glance that it was hard to believe he’d been responsible for four staff members puking simultaneously into the same toilet. The clean up the next morning had made Yuhwan feel almost as ill as the drink itself.

“You,” Sejoon said, turning his back on Taewoon as genteely as he could without toppling off his bar stool, “just can’t handle your liquor.”

And that was the moment when Yuhwan should have stepped in, in his managerial capacity, regardless of how patronising it might seem to the two guys he’d known since school. But Yuhwan had drunk a fair amount, and there was a very pretty girl entering the bar so he didn’t really notice Taeil slipping away from the pinball machine and joining the group at the bar, pointed nose raised like he could smell blood (or vomit, more likely). He followed the slender figure across the room and only the thud of glasses on the sleek wood of the bar top pulled his attention away.

“What’s this?”

The first round of shots are down his staffs’ necks before he’s finished his sentence.

 

 

The clock continues its hideous journey towards three, when Yuhwan will have to force himself out of bed and into the shower. Just thinking of the high ceilings of the restaurant and the way the noise echoes off the walls makes his head thud harder. He fumbles for his phone again, mentally drafting an advert for a new head chef in the event of a real emergency. He’d called Taeil four times after they’d dropped him off, but he hadn’t answered. This time the phone rings for long enough that when Taeil finally does pick up, Yuhwan can be fairly sure he was holding off out of sheer churlishness.

“No,” Taeil says.

“Oh, thank God, you’re alive, that’s good to know - ”

“No,” he says again, and the line goes dead.

 

 

By the time they pitched up to join the after work drinks at the restaurant, Yuhwan was much too far gone to think that it might not be the most professional choice they could have made. Jungwoo, well into drowning his sorrows, sat opposite a triumphant Jongkook, who cornered Sejoon as soon as he appeared to give him a detailed report on everything that had happened and how masterfully Jongkook had dealt with it. It took him a good three minutes of blathering at top speed before he narrowed his gaze and said, “Wow, you’re pretty fucked up Captain.”

Sejoon cranked one of his eyebrows askew and squinted over at Taewoon and Taeil, both making hearty but unsuccessful attempts to seat themselves. “Their fault,” he said, hiccuped and wandered off behind the bar to check the clean up.

Aiming a friendly clap at Jongkook’s shoulder as he hurried after a stumbling Sejoon, Yuhwan hoisted himself onto a table and beamed around the empty room at nothing in particular. It didn’t seem to matter, somehow, that Taeil and Taewoon were both opening another beer and chugging it down as fast as they could; it didn’t matter that even Jungwoo looked alarmed at the pace they were hitting. Everything was pleasant and blurry around the edges, suffused with this pretty golden haze, and things were losing their edges in the nicest way, and really, Yuhwan thought, he ought to do this more often, it’s been such a nice bonding experience.

He jerked awake to Jungwoo’s hand against his cheek, a bit sharper than it needed to be. “Gonna need some help with this one,” he hissed as Yuhwan stumbled of out of his seat, clinging to Jungwoo’s arm.

“Eh?” He yawned, blinked hard to try to refocus his eyes. The room tilted back and forth in an interesting way, but through the mist he could just about make out the shapeless green fuzz of Taeil’s favourite hat. The head chef was face down on the table, a sticky pool of spilt beer dripping past his ear.

“What the hell did you guys get up to?”

Yuhwan tried to press the backlog of blood out of his swollen eyelids and ended up making himself dizzy. “Ugh. Uh. Sejoon, whisky, something.”

“You didn’t let them start on the liquor this early?”

“I didn’t know I was meant to be babysitting!” Trying to pull away from Jungwoo in indignation only further offset his centre of gravity, and a couple of plates went crashing to the floor as he caught himself. Jungwoo’s arm twined around his waist, tugging him upright. “How was I gonna know they’d start some stupid - stupid competition?”

“I won,” insisted a voice from below them. Jungwoo heaved a sigh which Yuhwan could feel through the shoulder he was holding onto. He tightened his grip and peered down to see Taewoon, his eyes squashy and pink over the rim of a glass still half-full of red wine. He clutched it like he thought his claim might still be disputed, even though his opponent was sleeping soundly - and noisily - only a few feet away. “I won, I beat - beat him.” After a hearty belch he gave Yuhwan a sloppy smile which looked ready to slide right off his flushed face. “‘M gonna sleep here tonight, ‘kay papa?“

Before either of the managers could say anything, Taewoon folded his hands comfortably around his glass, sank back against the bar and shut his eyes. Jungwoo, still holding Yuhwan upright, gave him a hard pinch on his waist. “You are a terrible father.”

 

 

"I didn’t mean to make you cry, though.” Jungwoo’s voice comes in little snorty grunts between the sniggers he’s doing an appalling job of muffling. Yuhwan considers throwing his phone against the wall. Then, at least, if he doesn’t turn up for work no one will be able to call him.

“I didn’t cry - ”

“You cried like a baby, bro, I’m sorry - it took like half an hour to calm you down before we could even think about moving those two assholes.” Getting Taeil into a taxi hadn’t been too much hassle once he came to enough to wobble from door to car, although going near him half-asleep was sort of like what Yuhwan imagined it would be like to approach a shark while it’s in tonic, with no warning about when it might wake up and decide to snack on your arm. Taewoon, on the other hand, slept ferociously and was an absolute dead weight. Yuhwan can still feel the ache in his ribs from hefting him into the backseat of the taxi.

It’s ten to three, and Yuhwan sits up ever to slowly, grateful to whatever power - painkiller, sleep or laughter - has stopped his head from feeling like it’s imploding. The last half of the night is a carnival blur of bright colours and odd noises; hazy memories of stumbling into lamp posts and of sitting on the floor of the restaurant with the blurry tips of his shoes in his eyeline. He doesn’t remember getting home, although he has a vague recollection of a kiss on the cheek before he fell into the taxi. “Thanks for sorting everything out.”

Jungwoo’s laugh is lazy and familiar. “Any time man. I’m a pro at this sort of thing. Besides, you clean up after me enough. Hope you at least had a good time.”

Yuhwan searches through the bits of the night he can remember properly. “Well. Sejoon got us thrown out of a bar because he said they weren’t mixing their Manhattans right and tried to take over from the bartender. And someone offered me ecstasy, he said he ate at our place once and that was how it made him feel but he looked a bit homeless. And Taeil beat every high score on the pinball machine and then tried to fight it. Oh,” and the purple marks around his wrist catch his eye again, and he lifts his hand to examine them. “And someone bit me, but I have no idea who.”

There’s an awkward sort of cough from the other end. “Ah. That was me, actually.”

“Why did you bite me?”

“Hey, I was pretty drunk as well,” Jungwoo says, like that’s some kind of defense. “And I had to get you to stop crying somehow.”

“I wasn’t crying!”

“Well, I nearly was after your drunk goddamn lecture about how you shouldn’t bite your manager.”


	41. On Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "zikyung. speed bar and grill universe. prompt: on again, and disgusting everyone with it."

Despite the fresh, beautiful spring day Yuhwan’s just cycled through, and the huge bunch of peonies on the front desk announcing Jaehyo’s weekly visit to the APink Flower Shop - nothing is usually more guaranteed to put him in a good mood - the host barely glances up from his phone. His shoulders and back are set so stiffly, it’s like they’ve been superglued to the glass partition behind him. Yuhwan spends thirty seconds flipping through his mental filing system for what might be the source of the irritation. Coming up with nothing, he puts his bike helmet down gently next to the battered reservations ledger.

“Good morning Jaehyo.”

“Is it?” Jaehyo hisses, with enough venom that a few drops of saliva hit his phone screen. Yuhwan decides to skip his usual tactics of drawing attention to the lovely weather or talking about his newly flowering cactuses.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s a code sixty nine. That’s what.”

A spiky arm snags Yuhwan around the waist, and Taeha’s pointed chin and floral cologne assault him. “Those stupid codes don’t work if you’re the only one who knows what they mean.”

Jaehyo’s black silk scarf jumps at his jaw line where he’s grinding his teeth together. “You wait,” he says. “Just wait.”

“Sixty nine?” Taeha’s prodding fingers as he tries to detangle himself intensifies the unpleasant, nauseated throb in the pit of Yuhwan’s stomach. From somewhere across the floor he hears something high-pitched and insinuating. “Oh God. It’s not someone having sex in the toilets again, is it?”

“It might as well be.”

Steeling himself for what he might find, Yuhwan delays Taeha long enough to peer into each of the toilets. They remain, thankfully, free of slurping noises and peculiar smells. His stomach settles down again on looking out across the floor, shining in the spring light and ready for the big evening ahead, all snowy tablecloths and gleaming crockery and the sparkling wine-coloured lights of the bar. Not a place where people conduct trysts at ten in the morning. By the time he’s tried some of Taeha’s newly concocted peach and raspberry champagne sundae, he’s forgotten all about Jaehyo’s bad mood.

Then the kitchen door hits the wall with enough force to crush a watermelon, and Taeil announces himself with a bellow of, “Get me the big pan, I’m going to vomit everywhere.”

Instincts primed, Taeha’s on his feet the second the head chef appears, although the lazy smile doesn’t move from his face as he slides the saucepan over the countertop. “Good. Haven’t started the base for the soup yet.”

“You,” Taeil points a furious, stubby finger, “are revolting. That,” and he stabs at the half-finished sundae, as Yuhwan lowers his spoon, “is disgusting. This cesspit of a hellhole of an excuse for a restaurant is full of filth and obscenity, and I quit. Hear me? I _quit_.”

Taeil quits once every few days, so Yuhwan just swallows the last mouthful of sundae and bites the inside of his cheeks. Nothing enrages Taeil more than people laughing at his enraged state. “Sure. Have your letter with me by the end of the day, alright?”

“You think this is funny? Of course you do. You’re probably going into fucking ecstasies about love’s young sickening dream up there drooling all over each other like a couple of mongrel puppies with their tongues removed, I’m sure you think it’s _just adorable_. But for the rest of us, with our gag reflexes in the right place and a head wholly unturned by ridiculous period dramas, it’s the pornographic show which no one asked to attend taking place in the middle of the workplace while we’re trying to get on with the important business of not contravening every health and safety rule in existence by _vomiting all over everything_.”

Yuhwan makes a mental note, as Taeil slams his way around, to write to the manufacterers of their kitchen equipment and thank them for making it so hardy. By the end of the rant Taeha’s stifling his sniggers with his fist, and Taeil compounds his fury by switching the tap on so violently that a jet of water rebounds off the bottom of the saucepan and soaks his face. Yuhwan thinks he can hear steam hissing.

“Oh man. I totally know what’s going on.”

“Don’t you say a fucking word,” Taeil orders, almost impaling Taeha’s nostril with a temperature probe. “I will not have a single fucking mention of it in my kitchen.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuhwan says hopelessly. And then, just as he’s about to give over every last scrap of managerial dignity and outright beg his staff to let him in on the gossip, a massive, mournful shadow appears at the kitchen pass and it finally makes sense.

“I’ve come to offer myself as sacrifice,” Taewoon says. He forces his bulky shoulders almost all the way through the hatch, like a big dog trying to get through a cat flap. “Please kill me.”

“I’ve never been happier to not have done it before, so you can suffer through this with the rest of us.”

“I haven’t slept in three days. The whole flat stinks of balls and spunk. Mum’s giving Jiho all the extra bits at dinner because she’s so happy he’s putting on weight.” The dark shadows around Taewoon’s eyes make him look so genuinely pitiful that Yuhwan considers taking the big steak knife off the wall and putting him out of his misery himself.

“This is your fault,” Taeil says. “You should have drowned him at birth.”

“You say that like I didn’t try.”

Down the corridor floats that high-pitched noise again: a coiling, slippery, wheedling noise, spit-slick around the edges and wrapped up with images of grubby fingers pinching where they shouldn’t and coffee breath mingling. A wet smack echoes across the tiles; a laugh and a muffled slap; low voices. Jiho’s face appears first at the kitchen door, flushed and beaming, and Kyung’s heels squeak up behind him a second later, his overgrown hair falling in his eyes. If they were pressed any tighter together, their skin would start bonding.

Even the force of three furious stares (and Yuhwan’s look of disapproval, because Taeil is right, he can’t bring himself to hate romance in any form) doesn’t quite wipe the smile off Jiho’s face. “Sorry guys,” he says, sounding not sorry in the slightest. “We - uh - store room?”

With one of those surprising bursts of speed, Taewoon pulls himself out of the hatch and thunders towards them. Taeil only has to take a single step; the temperature probe he wields like a surgical instrument gets the message across adequately. “Shit!” Kyung squeaks, and hauls himself and Jiho to safety, down the corridor and back towards the open floor, where the eyes of potential customers will protect them.

“Well,” Yuhwan says, pulling the remains of the champagne sundae towards him. “At least they’re happy again.” Sure, going back to the days of walking in on snatched snogs in the changing rooms, eternally wandering hands and goopy, stomach-turning smiles flung between their sections is going to be tough for a lot of the staff - not to mention the difficulty he’s going to have putting together a rota which allows the two at least one evening off together a week. But it’s been nearly two months of that strange, impersonal politeness they’d resorted to at work, of Kyung’s random crying jags and Taewoon tearing his hair out every time Jiho stayed out far too late with another much-too-old-for-him man. Two months of having one of the most permanent features of their staff team - as permanent as Taeil’s temper and Jaehyo’s gossip and Jungwoo’s Monday morning hangover - coming loose, with devastating consequences for the two lads who are, despite their many faults, two of the most reliable and best loved workers. And after all of that, Yuhwan’s entirely sure that under the pretence of disgust, everyone’s hiding a strong need to weep with relief.

“I quit,” Taeil repeats.


	42. Hey Ma Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: no pairing, speed bar and grill universe: everyone tries sejoon's new cocktail recipe from that super alcoholic peach rum or whatever it was. hence the decision to give the recipe to the shinee bar.

Being a writer, Sejoon can trace the neat course of events which led to him having a bottle of 150 proof peach brandy in his hand. It starts about a week ago with the three back to back double shifts Taewoon had worked to cover his younger brother (while Jiho took some time off to thoroughly reacquaint himself with the inside of Kyung’s mouth). Of course Taewoon spent his next day off getting shit-faced beyond belief, and dragged his usual partner in crime along with him, which meant that when Jungwoo sat down to place their drinks orders the next day, he was not only half-asleep, but also still slightly drunk from the night before. A little distraction, in the form of very noisy kissing in the corridor outside the office, was all it took for his weary hands to slip.

So, really, it’s entirely the fault of Jiho and Kyung, and their freshly rejuvenated relationship, that Sejoon has a bottle of peach brandy he neither needs nor wants. He can’t find it in his heart to say anything, though. It’s hard enough to face down Jungwoo’s hangdog expression when he realises he’s fucked up. He’s not going to start lecturing ‘love’s young sickening dream’. Apart from anything else, he’s not sure his stomach could handle setting eyes on the pair of them. Once again, Sejoon’s just going to have to sort the problem out himself. He slides the bottle back into the spirit cupboard, makes a note on his stock list and carries on counting. It’s not for nothing they call him the Doctor Doom of cocktails. If he can’t find a use for it, he’ll turn in his braces and boston.

Braces and Boston. Sejoon makes a mental note. That’s not a bad blog title.

It’s a few more days before he has a chance to do anything, but he’s spent a few hours browsing around a couple of the dog-eared, liquer-stained, somewhat singed manuals he keeps in the office, once glossy books with titles like The Curious Bartender and A Mixologist Prepares, and of course a well loved copy of Jerry Thomas. As he heads in on Wednesday morning, he’s got a good idea of what he’s going to do. Ignoring Hoseok’s look of near disgust at seeing him in work on his day off, Sejoon gathers up the bottles he wants and heads into the bar back area. He’s got a laboratory to set up.

“What’re you doing Captain?”

“Stop eating behind the bar,” Sejoon replies. Hoseok crunches off another bit of apple and chucks the core into the bin. “I’m experimenting.”

“If I smell smoke, I’m telling Yuhwan.”

Sejoon ignores him gracefully. It’s ridiculous they’re still harping on that. It hadn’t even been Yuhwan’s kitchen cupboard that caught fire. God knows why he’s still all antsy about it. With his bottles ranged out neatly, Sejoon takes a moment to appreciate the balance, the zen of the scene before he begins mixing. Even in the fly trap florescence of the bar back area, each bottle glows from within, like it’s hiding a secret in its warm depths. The alluring, wicked green of the absinthe; the deceptive oily crystalline gin;  the winking amber of the brandy, the rum, the vermouth, recalling some long lost club room, all tobacco-aged leather and a creaking piano. Sejoon allows himself a moment of stillness, shivering with yearning for those bygone days. Then he takes his boston, spins it in his hand, and cracks open the gin.

Probably he should have eaten some of the toast Jungwoo made that morning, even if it was burnt and heaped with enough strawberry jam to feed a child’s birthday party. Sejoon tries to be conservative about tasting his concoctions, but when you’re working with such strong, sweet flavours, it’s impossible to get a proper idea of what you’ve made without a decent sized taster - it’s just about the way your tongue works.

“What?” Minhyuk says.

“You’re a chef. You should understand these things.”

“I understand that you’re middle aged lady day-drunk.”

“It’s been worth it. Wait until you taste my creation.”

Minhyuk pushes Sejoon by the shoulders into the nearest chair. “You and Taeha are on a mission to make me feel nauseous before midday, aren’t you? Stay there. I’ll get you some lunch.”

Sejoon’s head starts to clear about halfway through the meal - thankfully, because that’s when Yuhwan shows up, running his fingers inside his paisley-printed collar and blinking to refocus his computer-blitzed eyes. He leans one elbow on the kitchen pass, waiting for his own lunch. A perfect opportunity, and Sejoon manages to say, “Want to try something after lunch?” without slurring too many of the words. Yuhwan blinks a few more times, eyebrows raising just a hair.

“I’m guessing this is an alcoholic something?”

“I don’t think we need any more funky milkshakes and cheeky chas on the menu.”

“Is it watermelon soju?” Minhyuk says.

“Fuck off.” He empties the last of the rice into his mouth and wobbles to his feet. Yuhwan is, luckily, looking the other way. “I’ll go make one. Trust me. It’s incredible.”

“As long as you haven’t set anything on fire this time.” Sejoon restrains the unprofessional retort he wants to make, and makes his very dignified if rather slow way across the floor.

Yuhwan meets him up at the bar top, Hoseok craning over his shoulder as he sets the finishing touches on the martini glass: a perfect coil of orange rind (however tipsy he might be, Sejoon could carve a perfect piece of rind tied upside down in a hurricane) and a squeeze of the oils over the surface, and a slender peach slice balanced on the rim. “I’m thinking of salting the rim,” he says, preparing his elbow to deal with the inevitable joke from Hoseok about salty rims. “I thought that might be overkill for the first time though.”

“A salty rim is never - ” Hoseok says, and then staggers back with a grunt. Yuhwan takes the stem of the glass with two fingers, peering into the drink like he’s expecting it to explode in his face. He never acts like this when Taeha makes a new dessert. If Sejoon wasn’t so professional, he might be slightly hurt. He can’t help but wish, however, that it were Jungwoo here. If only so he could face the consequences of his own mistake.

“What’s in it?”

“That peach brandy Jungie got. Gin, triple sec, lemon juice, egg white, peach liquer. And an absinthe rinse on the glass. It’s based on the Perfect Lady cocktail.” It doesn’t escape his notice that Yuhwan’s eyes get wider with each ingredient he names. A small hiccup escapes Sejoon, and the professional front sags just a little. “What?”

“The brandy which was 150 proof?”

“Yes.”

“Sejoonie,” Yuhwan says, his lisp making it sound ever so soft and gentle, almost apologetic. “Sejoonie, you can’t put this on the menu.”

“Why not?” But he already knows exactly why not - probably already knew why not before he even got the drink into its final form, and it’s not even the price of the bottle or the strength of the booze or the strange, shrimpish colour of the final drink. Sejoon’s done a wonderful job of keeping their in-restaurant bar on a par with the kitchen for innovation and modern takes on old classics, but - like Taeil’s sweet chilli bulgogi - sometimes they have to know where to draw the line. It’s hard enough balancing appeal to a large clientele with an upfront refusal to serve watermelon soju. Some drinks are suited only for his imaginary club room, for the tertiary colours and tweed trousers and nicotine heavy air of a past long gone.

“Hey, you don’t have to waste the recipe,” Yuhwan says. “Pass it on to the guys at the Shinee bar. I bet it’d sell there.”

Sejoon’s sure he’s not pouting. That would be far too undignified. Just in case, though, he hides his lower lip in the depths of his beautiful, rich-smelling, entirely unfitting new drink. It’s delicious - that’s one consolation. The other is that it’s strong enough for one to adequately drown all his sorrows.


	43. The Bitch Fell Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "yoonjin. speed bar and grill universe. prompt: a ride home."

The studio.

That's what Yoongi keeps reminding himself of. Every table who order like they're just now learning how to read; every time his attention is demanded with snapping fingers he would dearly like to break off at the knuckle; every night he rides the puke-smelling train home with aching legs, surrounded by bawling drunkards and haggard night workers who look like dried out corpses. His single room is tiny and grotty, and the guy next door plays drum and bass until the small hours of the morning, but he can pull out the drawers under his bed and forget it all by gazing at his collection. Each shining, chrome-plated piece is a trophy for persistence. For hard work. For the sheer willpower required not to hurl every piece of cutlery he can lay his hands on at the next braying asshole trying to flag him down when he's already managing with two hands less than he really needs.

The studio, he thinks. That's why he's working twelve hour shifts back to back. That's why he puts up with the caffeine jitters and grits his teeth whenever Jiho tries to goad him into a rap battle. That's why he moved to this stinking city in the first place, with its crowded public transport and hordes of suited and booted bastards, and nightclubs which make the pavement shudder at three a.m. It's all for a greater goal. People in his life have often called Yoongi lazy. He's just very good at waiting.

He's so exhausted by the afternoon that he almost says it out loud: "The studio." He catches himself, holding still, feeling his organs trembling on the brink of collapse. The rims of his eyes feel like sandpaper but he's not going to drop eye contact with Taewoon. "I'm fine," he says instead, and immediately curses his own tongue for being so sludgy and bloated.

"I don't like to exaggerate," Taewoon says, ignoring Yoongi's snort at the outright lie, "but you literally look like you're going to die."

"I'm not going to die. I'm fine. I want the hours."

He can already tell it's not going to work. He's been at the restaurant long enough to get the message in the way Taewoon folds his arms across his chest, the way he does when he catches Kwon sneaking booze to Kyung behind the bar. "I want you to be alive. When was the last time you slept more than two hours?"

"I didn't realise you were also a doctor."

"See. You can't even come up with a decent comeback. You're fucked, kiddo." Yoongi doesn't even have it in him to protest as Taewoon takes his sixth coffee out of his hand and draws him away from the waiter's station. "Listen, whatever shit you're getting up to in your spare time, you've gotta take care of yourself. I might drink like a bastard, but I don't let it show at work. However much you want the hours, I can't give them to you if you're not up to it."

The injustice stings harder than Yoongi's propped-open eyes. He can't complain though. Half the guys here spend their spare time getting fucked up, partying, staying out to the small hours. How is Taewoon to know he's any different? That he's not a party boy, that he might be the most boring twenty two year old in the world, that he's not studying or shagging. That his most pleasant evenings are spent with a blunt, his computer, and his precious, hard earned collection of machines.

Taewoon's not being mean. Yoongi's just almost as miserly with personal information as he is with his money. And Taewoon's not wrong, either. Yoongi is fucked. His knees feel like porridge, his spine feels like a bow that's been bent too far, and his brain is fizzing and sputtering like the time Namjoon dropped his phone in a glass of coca cola. He always thought he was pretty good at hiding it, but as Taewoon directs him into the changing room with a sigh that blows the hair off the back of his neck, he realises he's not.

Just, fuck his luck. He could have got a job working for some faceless chain restaurant. He could be manning the grills at SuJus right now, yelling at seventeen year old cashiers with no one giving two shits if he was at death's door. Instead, he's landed himself with this bunch of caring motherfuckers, who don't even have the callousness necessary to fire him upfront for screwing up an entire table's worth of orders. Instead, Taewoon's helping him into his coat and guiding him to the kitchen hatch and calling through for something for him to take home.

"Just get a good night's sleep," he says. "Eat something. Hate to say it, but if you keep coming in all fucked up, we'll have to look at cutting your hours permanently. I'm sorry man." And he really is sorry, the bastard. Yoongi sinks down on one of the rickety chairs pushed against the wall. The studio, he thinks, but the mantra's not working right now. His stomach is turning inside out, and not just from the smell of the kitchen. He's a good person, he thinks. He just wants to work hard, earn a fair wage, and fight his way to his dreams. He doesn't deserve this victimisation.

And to further compound his misery, because how else would God be able to drop his quota of shits on Yoongi today, it's not Minhyuk or Taeha who appears next to him with a brown paper bag in his hands. It's Seokjin. Forehead still damp from the heat, hair curling gently around his ears, a charcoal smudge indicating the perfect tilt of one cheekbone. Yoongi leans forward, pretending to be very interested in a crack in one of the floor tiles. Since Taewoon apparently thinks he's Yoongi's mother, maybe he'll be the one with the broken back if Yoongi steps on it. There's no way he hadn't planned this. The one piece of information Yoongi failed to keep padlocked in a safe under his bed.

"Not feeling well?"

As if his general proximity isn't enough, Seokjin somehow finds it appropriate to kneel down next to Yoongi's chair, like he's saying hello to a dog or a small child. He probably uses the same tone with them, soft and simple, nice short words. He probably thinks Yoongi's some nuked out idiot party boy too. He probably thinks he's on a hideous comeback, pissing his money away on tickets to raves and those horrible pills Taehyung flings around like sweets. It's bad enough to be mothered by the head waiter. If Seokjin starts doing it as well, Yoongi might as well throw an application in at SuJus tomorrow. He can deal with people thinking he's grouchy and stand-offish. He can't stand people thinking he's stupid.

"I'm fine," he snaps. Seokjin's lower lip drops a little. "I'm just tired."

"It's been quiet today. I'm sure they'll manage without you." Yoongi must have missed some of the conversation. Get Yoongi some food, Taewoon must have said, and make sure you patronise him as much as possible in the process.

"Sure."

And then Seokjin heaves a sigh which is more weary and worn than Yoongi ever thought his pretty mouth could muster, and drops down to sit on the floor next to him. Sits right on the floor, this absurdly good looking man with his hair flopping in his eyes and his supermodel profile, and rests his chin on his hands, and sighs like he understands. "I get it. It sucks when they send you home like this. Especially when you need the hours."

Yoongi chances a look down under his eyelashes. Seokjin's looking out across the dark corridor, eyes a little defocused with the lids drooping in the same limp way as his massive shoulders. There's that familiar curve in his spine which Yoongi knows so well: the way it starts to sway under the weight of your head when you've been forcing yourself upright for too long.

"I messed up," he says, but he doesn't think Seokjin's patronising him any more.

"Right. But you can either stay and mess up a bit more and risk losing the job, or you can work less hours and risk losing your flat. Either way, you get fucked. I mean, I appreciate that these guys give a shit - it's not been like that anywhere else I've worked. Fuck, the last place I was at, the head chef would just try to jam coke up your nose if you so much as yawned. But that's the industry. You either do the work and get paid, or you go bust."

It's been nearly two months for Yoongi at the restaurant - two months of watching Seokjin from across the floor, avoiding his polite, pleasant attempts at conversation after work, and wondering how he would ever be able to stand being alone with him. Now he realises this might be both the longest, and the most honest thing he's ever heard from Seokjin. Not to mention the first time he's heard him swear - which, given his job, is an almost unheard of miracle. Seokjin raises a hand to gnaw at his thumbnail, catches himself and tucks his fingers around the bag again, and his shoulders stretch and shiver back against the wall.

"Taewoon thinks I'm out partying every night, I guess."

"I think Taeil thinks I stay up until two am setting my hair or something." Seokjin laughs, and it's not all high and pretty the way he laughs at Kyung's innuendo. It's a harsh barking sort of laugh, the kind Yoongi finds himself letting out when he looks up from his computer and sees it's somehow nearly dawn again. "It's these fuckers I live with. It was fine when we worked together, we were all up until stupid o'clock, but now, ugh." He rubs a hand over his face, a groan replacing every obscenity he clearly wants to spew at his flatmates.

"Drum and bass until three in the morning?"

"God, right? You get it." This time it's his normal laughter. Seokjin pulls himself to his feet and offers down a hand. Maybe his body's shutting down from exhaustion, but Yoongi's stomach doesn't flip over when he takes it. "We'll figure it out. I think Hobi's looking for a new roomie, although God knows if that would be any better. And you." He sweeps the limp hair off his forehead and smiles down, and this time Yoongi's empty stomach does manage a small acrobatic maneover. "What are you going to do?"

"Sleep," Yoongi says. "Then think about it."

"Want a ride home?"

The thing about bieng a patient person, about working hard and waiting for things to come to you, is that inevitably they end up being far better than you could have expected. Taewoon told Yoongi just a few days ago that he should try talking to Seokjin, that he'd probably end up finding an empty head behind his pretty face. Required bucket of freezing water dumped on his heated feelings, he could return to normal life. Instead - and Yoongi's not sure if this is better, or worse - Seokjin turns out to be all quirky smiles and daft jokes; all the soft edges of his appearance hide the tough coarseness necessary for working the kitchen, and he doesn't smell like angel food cake or ambrosia. He smells like charred meat and his own spicy sweat. Yoongi finds this out when he's got his nose pushed into Seokjin's back, clinging around his waist on the back of his baby pink scooter.

"Hold on," Seokjin says. "I need to get a jacket that says, 'if you can read this the bitch fell off'."

With his take away lunch burning between his thighs, Yoongi pretends that's the only reason his cheeks are on fire. The studio, he thinks, but that's not the only reward he's thinking of any more.


	44. Shinee's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The boys from the SHINee bar stop by SPEED Bar & Grill so Jonghyun can meet up with his new buddy Jiho and head out for a night on the town. Kyung (jealous little f*cker that he is) isn't so sure about any of this. (BONUS: Onew makes new friends in the kitchen. & if Key gets to put someone in their place- so much the better)."

_Shinee’s_ cocktail bar (always in italics; even when it’s said out loud you can hear the looping of the letters) has been there for ages, but until a few months ago, no one from the Speed Bar And Grill had paid it much heed. Like Big Bang, it tends on the side of exclusivity; like SNSD’s, the queue outside is almost entirely female. It’s on the lowest level of a tiny corner building, the barely visible windows glowing boudoir red. Sometimes Sejoon and Jungwoo have to cross the street on their way home to avoid the knots of weaving, wobbling girls exiting at two am with their lipstick destroyed.

“I reckon it’s a brothel,” Jungwoo likes to say.

“Probably just a dive bar for hen parties,” Sejoon will sniff, and they continue without giving it too much thought.

Then Jaehyo takes Naeun from APink Flowers there, and fails to shut up about it for the entire next day.

“It’s super high end. Really like, innovative, you know? They only do like, five cocktails and they rewrite the menu completely every few months, Naeun says.”

“How many guys has she taken there?” Jiho asks. Jaehyo ignores him, continuing to swipe through his phone and show pictures to the uninterested but very bored wait staff.

“So, see, there’s just this little tiny bar section, and it’s all table service. All the waiters look incredible too, it’s really, you know, atmospheric. All the drinks were amazing, we tried most of them. I bet Sejoon could get a few ideas from them.” Jaehyo pauses on a picture of a goodlooking dark-haired man with broad shoulders and an irritated expression.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, that was when the manager came over and asked me to stop taking pictures. So, Naeun texted me last night, and I think we’re going out again on Tuesday, maybe get some lunch - ” Jaehyo trails off then into his daily airing of his personal laundry; Jiho and Kyung stop listening and start silently placing bets on how long this new relationship is going to last, and somehow by next week nearly every member of staff has taken a trip to _Shinee’s_.

“It’s always good to know where the competition is,” Yuhwan says, “and those boys are running a tight ship! Very impressive, although I think we’ve got a friendlier vibe.”

“Market research,” Sejoon says. “Their range is limited but there were a few strokes of genius,” and he disappears into the barback area to experiment.

“Rammed with chicks,” Taewoon says. “Totally not a place to pick them up though. If you like going to art museums it might be your thing.”

“If Sejoon ever tries to make us wear trousers that tight, I’m quitting,” is Jongkook’s only comment.

Two months later on a Monday evening, the doors swing open (they’ve only just slammed on the last of the boys from the Winner cafe, following their usual complaints about the lack of a happy hour and a few beers pounded in preparation for their weekly five-a-side game) and those same tight trousers cut a spectacular entrance across the restaurant floor.

Or rather, four pairs of tight trousers cut a spectacular entrance. One pair departs from the floor entirely and leave their owner sprawled on his behind next to the front desk.

With glazed eyes from his clandestine doughnut eating and online discussion of his latest Minecraft quest, Jaehyo peers over the reservations book and blinks a few times. It’s hard to recognise people on the wrong side of the bar; even more so when they’re usually dressed in immaculate shirts and polished shoes. Jonghyun, heading up the group, is easy enough to recognise: if a male version of fuck-me boots exists, that’s what he’s wearing, with an indecently low necked red vest top under his blazer, a sexed up, club-ready version of the bar uniform he usually wears. The guy heaving himself upright in the beaten up grey hoodie, on the other hand, bears no resemblance to any of the sultry, supple, suave bar staff.

“Lee Jinki,” Jonghyun hisses, pinching the grey hoodie’s shoulder. “Get up off your arse and stop embarrassing us.”

“I am your manager,” says the hoodie, voice a little thick, and not just from the layer of cotton. “You are fired.”

“You can’t fire me. Who’d fix your collars for you? Who’d curate your cocktail menus? Who’d cover for you when you walk into nice restaurants stoned off your stupid face?” With every question, Jonghyun yanks at the fistful of hoodie. His manager stays resolutely on the ground.

“I would get up sooner,” Jinki says, with a deep and wounded dignity, “if you would stop berating me.”

Jaehyo leans forward, just enough to bring his face out of the shadows behind the desk and into the clearer light flooding in through the double doors. “I’m afraid we don’t allow hoods indoors.”

Jonghyun wheels around, going from irritable to delighted in that single half-turn. “Jaehyo!” Behind him, Minho heaves Jinki to his feet and they stand there, gently swaying together. “Please excuse the disgraceful state of my colleagues. They have no sense of restraint.” There’s no sign on Jonghyun’s face of hypocrisy, despite the faint smell of vodka on his breath, his flushed cheeks and the flickering, glittering eyes that can’t seem to stay focused in any one place.

“Well we’ve been pre-drinking since three.” Done with whatever he was watching out of the door, Kibum slinks over and props himself up with one elbow on the desk, shoving Jonghyun out of the way. Jonghyun masterfully disguises a stagger as a friendly arm slung around Jaehyo’s shoulders. “Hey Jaehyo. Everyone’s fucked. How’s Naeun?”

“Fine. She’s great.” Kibum had been their waiter on their first date, and Jaehyo still didn’t entirely trust repeated assurances that it was against staff policy for them to hook up with customers. She’d come away very happy, but Jaehyo had avoided taking her back there. On principle, mostly. Jaehyo doesn’t like anything to cast doubt on his position as ‘best looking person in the room’. “We’re going for dinner tonight,” he adds, needled by the lack of reaction. Kibum only half-closes his eyes and makes a humming noise through his nose.

“That’s great. Where are the toilets here?”

“Where’s the seating?” Minho says, still just barely keeping himself and Jinki upright.

“Where’s Jiho?” At the moment Jonghyun’s fist hits the reservation desk, Jiho skids around the corner of the partition, spinning his apron above his head like a lasso.

“Ji-Jong!”

“Jiho!”

Jaehyo works his fingers into his temple as their delighted shouts richochet off the wood panelling. “Since when do you guys know each other?”

“Jaehyo, seriously.” He looks down, ready to snap at Kibum in exactly that world-weary, cooler than everyone tone, until Kibum grips Jaehyo’s jacket sleeve and leans in close, voice shivering and sodden with that paint-stripper smell. “I’m going to be really, really sick.”

It’s a blessing for all concerned that the restaurant is almost empty. Minho and Jinki pull themselves together enough to help shift the massive plant pot Kibum vomits in. He makes an impressively neat job of it. Then the whole gaggle of them wobble their way to the bar top, where Minho props Kibum against his side and palms him a breath mint and Jonghyun drags over a stool so he can be on eye level with Jiho. “You’re not going dressed like that, are you?”

“God no. I only just finished. I’ve got stuff downstairs.”

“Thank God.” Jonghyun fingers the soy-stained cuff of Jiho’s rolled up shirt sleeve. “What have you been doing?”

“It’s a restaurant. We sell food. So our customers don’t leave absolutely fucked and barf in plant pots.”

“If your Sejoonie had his way - ”

“Oh man.” Jiho thumbs at the corner of his eyes, using the gesture to hide a quick sideway glance, ensuring Sejoon isn’t hidden somewhere in the shadows of the bar. “He’s been coming up with new shit ever since he went to your place. We’ve got another fuckin’ cocktail training this week, I’ve gotta come in like two hours earlier.”

“Innovation is to be encouraged,” Jonghyun says, wagging a finger. “The creative impulse should never be stifled, however it gushes forth.”

“Can you not talk about things gushing forth,” Kibum says limply.

“Sorry baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“You have to be stand in baby while Taeminnie’s not here.”

“Baby has exams,” Minho informs Jiho, nodding with paternal gravity. “Baby’s grounded until he’s passed everything with top marks.”

Even with his long employment history at the Speed Bar and Grill, where the managers keep a dedicated and well-stocked hangover kit in the office and the staff have been guilty of far more drunken infractions within the walls than any of their customers, Jiho’s looking askance at the three guys in their slumped tableaux, and Jonghyun almost vibrating on his bar stool. 2AM is fairly lax on their door security - Jiho and Kyung have been sneaking in there for years - but turning a blind eye to the underage is one thing. He’s not sure Kibum and Jinki, at least, are going to make it past the entrance, simply because they don’t look entirely capable of standing.

“Are you guys okay to go out?”

The dismissive hand gesture Jonghyun makes almost topples him off his stool. It’s not as reassuring as he wants it to be. “Fine. Fine. We work hard, we play hard. Baby just needs a glass of water, he’ll live.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“I absolutely promise. Run your cute butt off and get changed, and we’ll have him all fixed up by the time you’re back.”

“And those two?” Jiho nods to Jinki, now focusing a thousand mile stare on the back bar and humming tunelessly to himself.

“Oh, they’re not even coming. They’re old men, they’re going to go home and watch Signal and fart themselves to sleep.”

“Oh shit,” Jinki says, eyes snapping back into focus. “Signal’s on tonight. Sweet.”

Whatever Taewoon likes to yell through the bathroom door, it doesn’t take Jiho long to get club-ready. Half an hour later he neatens up his lip tint, gives his hair one last ruffle and indulges in ten seconds (no more) of posing in front of the mirror. Then he goes back to the floor, where the lights are dimming to match the darkening sky outside, and the buzz of a steady evening filters across the candlelit tables. The group at the bar are more upright now, at least. Jinki’s got his back turned to the rest, talking with expansive hand gestures to a hidden someone. Kibum’s propped with his elbows on the edge of the bar, taking measured sips of his water, while Jonghyun divides his attention between him and -

Alright, so maybe Jiho did forget that Kyung had the night off as well, and he probably should have invited him along. That’s definitely his fault. He can see, across the room, the twitch under Kyung’s left eye, and the movements of his mouth as he restrains repeated attempts to pout. Stepping to avoid the placatory hand Jonghyun’s extending, Kyung meets Jiho’s gaze dead on. The deadly stare of a man who’s discovered Jiho selling state secrets, promising imminent execution for his betrayal.

He’s overreacting, Jiho tells himself, already feeling the sweat prick along his hairline. He’s going to bring up that whole Joon-Young thing again and this is nothing like that. This is one night out with a different group of friends. He’s allowed to have other friends. Kyung has other friends.

“- so it was really only when I found out he’s into music too that we got talking, he’s got a lot to say about - but I’m sure you know that yourself from working with him. Have you ever listened to his mixtape?”

Jiho rips a piece of skin off the inside of his lower lip. Maybe if he stares hard enough, Jonghyun will get the message and stop talking. And if he keeps staring at Jonghyun he can avoid Kyung’s dark, accusative eyes.

“Actually, I’ve been friends with Jiho since school. I helped him produce his mixtape.”

“Funny,” Kibum says, hiccuping and looking Kyung up and down with the narrow, brutally honest eyes of the terminally fucked. “He’s never mentioned you.”

“No, I definitely have. Definitely.” Jiho throws a signal to Yukwon - pouring three bellinis and still managing to eavesdrop on their conversation and looking entirely too amused by it - for some beers. Then he turns to Kyung, cranking the placatory smile up on his face even as Kyung’s eyes tear him in two, from his coiffed hair right down to his party boots. “We’ve not had a chance to hit up _Shinee’s_ together, we’ve been working like, opposite hours lately - “

"Right. Which means I don’t really exist, I guess?” Yukwon drops the beers at Jiho’s hand, humming something through his nose which sounds like the imperial march theme tune. Jiho tightens his jaw and throws a few more desperate watts into his smile. It’s already aching around the edges.

“Oh, that’s a shame, you should come along sometime! Bring a girl, it’s the perfect place for dates - well, unless you’re Jaehyo and you get all weird and paranoid, but like I keep telling him, none of us ever hook up with the customers, you know, it’s not our style? Always causes more complications than it’s worth - the same as staff dating, not that any of us would ever…” Jonghyun trails off, finally catching up with Jiho’s sweating and Kyung’s glaring and realising there’s an argument floating above his head which he’s not party to.

“Yeah,” Kyung says. “Staff dating. It’s a fucking awful idea.”

Jonghyun’s eyes flicker like the one busted bulb surrounding the back bar. “Drink your beer and we’ll be off!” he says at top speed, and swings around on his stool, issuing a loud introduction to whoever Jinki’s talking to.

“I didn’t realise you were off tonight,” Jiho says desperately.

“Funny, cause your name is right under mine on the rota. You could have just looked.”

“Well. You didn’t say you wanted to hang out.”

“I guess I just assumed we would. I didn’t realise you’d chuck it in half an hour early and try to fuck off without me.”

“I mean. You can come if you want. It’s no big deal.”

“No.” Kyung shoves past him, grabs a beer. The strain is visible in his neck and temples, and Jiho’s stomach turns over. It’s exactly this sort of argument which preceeded their now notorious three month break up. Their friendship has always been balanced between camaraderie and competition. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first: to complain, to apologise. Kyung’s too proud to say outright that he’s upset. Jiho’s too stubborn to admit he’s fucked up. It’s the sort of thing which festers, like how Jiho can’t ever just brush it off when Kyung flirts openly with other people. They’re both possessive, and they’re both struggling not to be the first to admit it. As Taewoon puts it, sometimes two dudes in a relationship is too much dude. “I’m not interested in your boys gone wild expedition, thanks. Have a great night. Call me if you feel like you can be bothered.”

It’s pride again which stops Jiho from following Kyung. He watches him go instead, around the wobbling knot of Jonghyun and Kibum, to where Jinki’s sitting with Seokjin. Kyung pulls up a stool much too close to Seokjin’s side and laughs too loudly at whatever he’s just said.

“Well. Well. I’m - God. I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to get involved in anything.” Pulling his jacket off the barstool, Jonghyun taps one heel against the floor, twisting his mouth into a little guilty pout. “I hope I haven’t made anything difficult for you.”

Jiho watches Kyung throw back his head and touch Seokjin’s knee, all sparkling eyes, the chef colouring at the attention. “Nah. I’m pretty good at making things difficult for myself. Don’t worry about it.”

“You still want to go?”

“We’re all here now. We might as well.” He takes up his beer and turns to leave. Jonghyun holds there a second longer, still tapping with his boot heel, this funny smile playing around his mouth.

“Love will out,” he says, and scoops up Kibum’s arm to drag him to the door. “Have a good night lads, don’t get too blazed.”

“Shit,” Jinki’s voice echoes from behind them. “Shit, we should totally get blazed.”

—-

“So,” Jinki says, managing an impressive wobble as he leans back to look Kyung up and down, despite having both elbows propped back on the bar. “So, Jinnie, is this him? Short, kind of cute, looks a bit evil. Fits the profile.”

“No,” Seokjin says, flushing at Kyung’s laughter. “No, this is Kyung, he’s just like this with everyone. And he has a boyfriend anyway.”

“Maybe not for long,” Kyung says. Even through his ear to ear smile, his voice is grim.


	45. Top Seller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yoongi wants to beat Kyung, and not in that way (not this time at least).

As Yoongi arrives for his shift, Yuhwan's just leaving. With his bike helmet clapped under one arm, the phone wedged between chin and shoulder, and his free hand scribbling a last minute reservation down in the margin of the ledger, he still finds the attention to flash a grin over. Yoongi nods back even as his shoulders begin to slump.

It's not the prospect of a quiet Monday evening which starts to weigh on his mood, nor the fact that it's Jaehyo behind the counter, scowling at Yuhwan's desecration of his sacred book (which means Yoongi's not going to get his good headphones back from Namjoon until Wednesday at least, if he finally remembers to bring them in). Yuhwan's smile is bright eyed even after hours of squinting at the end of week reports and settling every last account and combing through invoices smuged by sweaty fingers, spilt vodka and smears of ssamjang sauce. It's as pleasant as ever - but no more. No extra little glint; no nudge and wink tilting up the shoulder which isn't constrained by the phone. Yoongi digs one heel into the tiled floor and tries hard not to sigh.

"We'll see you on Wednesday evening then. Thank you very much!" Yuhwan hands the phone to Jaehyo, ignoring the filthy look he gets as he outlines the scribbled information four more times. He's using one of his favourite fat marker pens, an electric blue which will probably soak through three or four pages. He caps the pen and points it at Yoongi, holding it between two fingers like a cigar. "Afternoon! How are you doing?"

"Fine." It's hard not to smile back at Yuhwan, especially when he's managing to look so chipper through an unironed flannel shirt and purple bags under his eyes. Behind him, one hand towing himself up the stairs from the staff room, Sejoon appears, more neatly turned out but no less exhausted looking. Monday mornings are an early start for the unlucky members of management who get landed with them. One thing Yoongi appreciates about his job, as lowly as some might consider it, is that at least it allows him to sleep in. "How's everything?"

"Fabulous. An excellent week, you know, we're getting close to breaking records again. The way you lot are selling, we'll be on two hundred percent increase from last year by the end of summer!" Just in case Yuhwan's terribly normal smile had been a mistake on his part, Yoongi waits. Yuhwan just smiles and claps a hand on Jaehyo's shoulder. "Have a good evening kids. I'm going to have a long bath."

Yoongi waits until the doors shut behind him. Then he pushes a finger across the top of the reservations desk, twists his mouth into a knot and tries to sound nonchalant. "End of week figures up yet?"

"Kyung," Jaehyo says, only looking up when Yoongi slaps the desk with an open hand. "Stop abusing my desk. Go and get changed."

"You're not a manager," Yoongi snipes, but Jaehyo's sufficiently senior to him that he scatters at a venomous look.

As usual for a Monday afternoon, everyone working is gathered around the staff noticeboard. Jongkook, with a pinched, almost purple expression, is counting out bills into a smirking Yukwon's hand; by the door to the changing room, Kyung is just dismounting from Taewoon's shoulders, with a final crow of triumph. Yoongi doesn't need to check the sheets made up in Yuhwan's best flouncy handwriting, decorated with the glittery smiley-face stickers, to verify Jaehyo's brutally delivered information. The look on Kyung's face is enough.

"For the hundredth week running, gentlemen, sweeping the boards like a lightening storm!" Kyung throws his arms above his head once his feet touch the ground, puffing his chest out like he's announcing a world wrestling champion. "Dispenser of fine wines, charmer of women, totally fucking baller in every conceivable way, I give you - Park Kyung!" Even Taeha puts his phone down for long enough to give two or three lazy claps. Kyung grins like the applause itself could sustain him for the rest of his life.

Just once. Yoongi wants to win top seller just once. Then he'll be satisfied. Then he'll happily come in every Monday for the rest of his life and watch Kyung brag and preen and swagger around. Just once, to prove that he could do it if he wanted to - that his failure to do so every week is because sometimes, he just doesn't have the energy to plaster on the pitch-perfect happy face and sing sweet nothings to every customer that crosses his path. To prove that he, too, has the mouth necessary, and he doesn't need to face Kyung (or Jiho, or anyone) down in a rap battle to prove it. To show everyone that being slick and swift and glib isn't some small superpower only possessed by Park Kyung.

Nine months at this job is equal to roughly thirty six weeks and in that time, Kyung has won best seller every single Monday, bar two. The first time, he was away on holiday, and Jimin took the title (Yoongi's just glad Jimin usually works part time hours; if he worked full time as well, he'd never have a hope in hell of taking home the best sales). The second time, Kyung was off sick for two days, which Taewoon and Jiho covered between them, and Jiho won. There had been a booking of fifty people from a marketing firm having a leaving do; they'd drunk the bar out of every sparkling wine it had and nearly all the tequila. Were it not for that, Yoongi's sure he would have clinched the top spot that week. But there's no applause for the second best seller.

With his usual nose for the best bragging spots, Kyung's already wiggling his way over, every tooth showing in his self-satisfied smile. He bops his hips into Yoongi's and jerks his head towards the noticeboard. Like when he gets into his vibe on shift, and starts grooving and quick-stepping his way around the floor, he's restless in his pride, unnecessarily mobile. It makes Yoongi - with his eyes still foggy from his lie in - feel sludgy, like a torpid bass line to Kyung's jaunty melody.

"One day," Kyung says, adopting that gross paternal tone he's picked up from Taewoon. "Learn from me and some day, you'll reach these glorious heights."

"Not 'til you quit," Yukwon says, slinging his arm around Kyung's shoulder. "Give the kid a chance." They smile at each other, and however many times Yukwon's picked up a bag of hyroponic homegrown for him before, Yoongi despises him in that moment.

"I guess I just need to get better at lying to people." It comes out a lot more bitter and a lot less cutting than Yoongi hoped.

"Yeah," Yukwon says, matter of fact. "Basically. You sell any of that 2010 merlot yet?"

"It's shit, though."

"Yeah, that's the point. I know it's shit and you know it's shit, but if you can sell it and make people think it's not shit, that's the trick. How much you sold, Kyungie?"

"Like, fourteen bottles." Kyung says this like it's obvious, and Yukwon holds both hands up and mimes dropping a mic. Opposite, Jongkook's forehead goes a blotchy red under his fringe, and he mutters something. "It's something you get the hang of, seriously - Jiho's the same, he gets all moral about being honest to customers - "

"It's not morality, dude, Jiho can't lie for shit."

"Yeah, I know that better than anyone. You gotta be able to do it with a straight face. Like," and Kyung clasps his hands demurely in front of himself, adopting this soft-mouthed expression and a sweet, flutey voice. It makes Yoongi feel vaguely nauseous but he's seen for himself what it does for their (largely female) clientele. "Well, if you're getting two large glasses, why not get a bottle? It'll be cheaper overall, I know you'll end up wanting another glass once you see the dessert menu - why yes, I'd really recommend the merlot, it's a perfect all rounder - "

"Fresh and juicy," Taewoon yells from across the room, triggering a ripple of sniggers. Every wine tasting session they attend ends with Taewoon, a little worse for wear, stubbornly applying this description to everything he drinks while Sejoon starts to tear his hair out.

"A silky mouthfeel," Yukwon adds.

"It's a flirty little number," Jongkook joins in, having recovered from the sting of his lost bet enough to smile again.

"Do you know how stupid that sounds?" Even Yoongi can hear how weak he sounds. He knows the tricks, of course he does - and he's not above applying them himself, when he feels up to it. He wishes he could bullshit as effortlessly, as endlessly, as Kyung can - and since he can't, his pride turns to the next best thing, which is pretending the whole business is ridiculous. Kyung drops the smooth stance and rolls his eyes, and despite himself Yoongi feels a stab of jealousy.

"Does 'top seller like every single week ever' sound stupid to you?"

"Anyway," Taewoon adds, having finally wrestled his shirt buttons closed and ambling over. Only his arrival makes Yoongi realise how hard he's clenching his fists. "It's not like you don't do it yourself, dude. I've seen you out on that floor. You could snatch the top spot if you really put your back into it."

"I've seen you do it off the floor, even." Kyung cracks his grin back open and winks. "Wow, Seokjin, this cheesecake is amazing - no, of course I'm not seriously lactose intolerant, I'd love to try your cheese pasta - " Yoongi steps forward, as does Taewoon, and Kyung flees the scene with his shoes squealing and a last taunt: "Maybe you'd be a better seller if you weren't always shitting your brains out!"


	46. The Ethical Slut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we follow Taeha on one of his nights out.
> 
> (And he hooks up with Taemin because I do what I want.)

Every time he comes to this club, Taeha contemplates the bartender with the snub nose and deeply unbuttoned shirt and wonders if it'd be worth it.

This time, like every other time, he decides no. He tries not to hook up with the bartenders when he goes out. It makes it weird going back the next time, and he wouldn't want to be responsible for someone losing their job after they get caught fucking in the toilets. Taeha might be a slut, but he tries to be an ethical slut.

So tonight, like every other night at Jellyfish, he just places his order and cranes on his toes a bit when the bartender turns around and bends over for the little bottles of tonic water on the lowest shelf. This dude is as bad for Sungmin for not wearing belts. Today he's wearing black underwear with a green waistband. A hint of dark hair and the very top of his ass crack peeks out. Taeha thinks about what patchy, just post-puberty hair there must be further down.

He nods as he takes his drink, and half-smiles, and as always a fine line of sweat appears on the boy's upper lip. If he one day decides to go for it, Taeha knows he won't have much trouble. Especially in a place like this, his reputation precedes him. There's many a baby queer out there who's pretty much pitched themselves into his net of an evening. The sex is always sloppy and awkward, but it's gratifying to be treated like a rockstar.

He's feeling that today. Whatever that asshole Minhyuk says about Taeha's type being, "two legs with something hanging between them" (which isn't even true; he's fucked a dude with one leg, and a bunch of trans guys, because he is an ethical slut who doesn't discriminate) he's actually very discerning from night to night. When he's decided what he wants on that particular evening, nothing else will do.

Sometimes he fixates on a specific person; sometimes (rarely, which he preens himself over) he goes home empty handed. Sometimes he wants someone big: muscles and hard thighs who can throw him around a bit. Sometimes he wants experience and charm; he likes to reel the other person in while pretending he's the one being won over, and to be showered in compliments and smooth words. Sometimes (it's not nice but it's true) he likes the ones who think they're straight. He likes the thrill of being able to change their minds and send them home confused and questioning.

Tonight, he wants someone young. Seeing the cute bartender has got him decided. He wants to dazzle and awe, and to leave his catch gasping, feeling things they've never felt. He wants to be the cause of a formative experience. He wants to teach.

At this club, it shouldn't be too hard. It's a young person's club: happy hour and party shots and music a beat faster than your heart rate. There are boys fresh from watching the big match of the day, with their team colours painted on their faces, clutching each other and drooling beer from their mouths and plastic cups. There are girls in bandage dresses and unstable heels, tossing their hair as they dance.

There's Taeha, at the bar, sizing them all up and wondering where to begin. And then, as occasionally happens, the catch of the day tumbles right out of the sea of bodies and flops right next to him, panting and damp.

Taeha slides his eyes sideways to watch as the boy orders a drink and then stands with his head in his hands while it's being made. He's pretty, very pretty, with thick hair grown down past his chin and very full lips. When his drink appears - rum and coke, Taeha notes for later - he pays without looking up, and then mouths something down at his glass. Taeha can't hear him, but reading his lips he's fairly sure it was a fuckword of some variety.

He turns. Nudges up beside the guy and speaks, close enough to be heard. "Hey. You alright?"

"Fucking," the guy says, and then stops to swallow hard. "Yeah. Fine. I mean, no not really, but, you know."

Taeha's good at guessing. It's part of what makes his success rate so high. He notices things, like the flush high on the dude's cheekbones, and his slightly mortified expression, and the way his curiously small hands tremble as they wrap around his drink. "Someone turn you down?"

The guy groans, and drains half his glass with a suck on the straw which makes Taeha jerk slightly. "My fault. Stupid to try anyway."

Oh, Taeha thinks, and he knows just what to do. He stretches himself a little taller, makes his smile lazy and gentle. "Oh honey. Don't ever try to hit on a straight dude. All it does is swell their ego."

"Got it in one," the guy says with a bitter laugh. He finishes his drink and pulls himself upright, swaying a bit. His eyes are big and round and a little unfocused, damp for other reasons than his embarrassment. He's probably already quite drunk, and that means this is going to be very easy. "Like his ego needs swelling any more. Stupid asshole."

"It's a mistake you only make once."

He's aware of the way the dude is looking at him, now he's turned around properly: he's looking at Taeha like he's trying to decide whether or not to do something. Like he's aware of where this night might be headed, and he's making up his mind whether to go along with it. The poor little fool is probably infatuated with whatever meathead knocked him back; he probably thought he was in love. Now he's seeing an opportunity to go completely the opposite way: to indulge in something anonymous and heated and transient. He'll throw himself into it, feel like a decadent god while it's happening, and tomorrow he'll hate himself for it, and over the years as the pattern continues he'll learn to accept that pleasure doesn't always have to come with a lifetime of commitment, and that sex is not the same thing as love.

Taeha knows this pattern. He went through the same route himself, when he was the baby queer and the older men in clubs were to be respected and lusted after and feared in equal measures. Learning about sex means leaving childhood. Ridding yourself of the idealistic notions of true love strips you of a comforting fantasy. But it also stops you from believing that your 'one true love' would ever swear off women to be with you.

Been there, done that. The sooner the plaster gets pulled off, the better. Taeha sees the boy's eyes shift to a spot above his head. When he glances around, there's a big dude a few steps away from them, with a girl plastered to his face. The boy's fat lower lip quivers.

"Forget him," Taeha says firmly, and steps in closer, drawing the attention back to him. "He's not thinking about you. Don't waste your thoughts on him." He nods for the attention of the snub-nosed bartender (lurking too nearby to be entirely concidental) and orders them both another drink. "Taeha," he says, handing the glass over.

"Taemin," the kid says back, and finally stops looking like he's going to cry.

"Great. Now we're introduced, do you want to come outside for a smoke?"

Taemin's eyebrows knot in the centre. He really is very pretty, Taeha thinks, in a soft, almost girlish way that he wouldn't usually go for. But this is what was dropped into his lap tonight, and he's not complaining. "I don't smoke," Taemin says, and Taeha restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

"I mean, do you want to come outside. With me."

He's not as inexperienced as his young face and easily broken heart and failure to catch a simple hint would suggest. He knows how to move, trapped between Taeha's body and a cold brick wall. Taeha thinks he must be a dancer, from tracking the way the lean muscles are laid over his ribs and thighs, and from the way his hips move, fluid and finding a rhythm without music. His hips and hands communicate everything his stoppered mouth can't: the hurt, the need for distraction, the desire.

There's something else there too, a sort of barely restrained urge towards violence. His fingers occasionally dig hard into Taeha's hips and sides, or his teeth will come down on his lower lip or tongue, and then there's an apologetic pause before they carry on.

Taeha doesn't mind these moments. Compared to other times, it's like getting nipped by a puppy, and besides, he knows where it comes from. It's the misplaced need for revenge. Taemin's been hurt, been made to feel small, and now he wants to feel the power back in his own hands. It's his anger at his rejection, and Taeha would rather it be vented on him than turned inward. He's been there, he knows. It's only too easy for the power to fall the other way: to seek comfort in further hurt, and then come to believe it's all you deserve. That sort of thing isn't as easy to get rid of as a bad taste in your mouth and a little regret. That's the kind of shit that sinks in deep.

There's really no way of getting over this sort of rejection, Taeha thinks (as Taemin's hand drops down to his lower back and his tongue flicks hot into Taeha's mouth and he whines a little and pinches because this isn't enough, because he needs something more intense than his crushing embarrassment). It's different to not being wanted because you're not thin enough, or pretty enough. It's this first rejection that really teaches you how different you are. Loving and being loved will never be as simple for you as it is for ninety percent of the world. You are small, and have limited options, and it is far more likely that you will end up loving someone who will never love you back.

And maybe Taeha didn't deal with it in the most functional of ways, back when he was seventeen and exploring himself. And maybe, as some of his friends speculate, it's led him to this point: the dark sky closing in overhead, an unfamiliar body in his arms, burying himself in the heat of a kiss to block out the chill from the rest of the world: the friends who abandoned him and the family who turned their backs.

But this is where he is now: a slut with a conscience, and while he's young enough to have orgasms which leave him scrambling after the time of day, he's going to indulge. True love, if it exists, can come later, if it wants. Sometimes he wishes there'd been someone there, to guide him through it, and not just people waiting to take advantage, but that's life.

"Hey," Taemin breathes against Taeha's mouth, and Taeha realises he's been distracted.He comes back to the present moment with the sickly sweet smell of rum too close for comfort, and Taemin's eyes shining and half-lidded, and an uncomfortable feeling starting to curl up his back. He unhooks his hands from behind Taemin's neck and places them against his chest.

"Hey," he says back, and finds Taemin's hands where they're planted on his ass, takes him by the wrists.

"Can we go to your place?"

Taeha sighs and pulls back. It's hard to be an ethical slut. He's already thinking of his cold, empty bed, and how much he'll have to drink just to get to sleep. But it would feel worse to wake up and see this kid there and to know the kind of person he'd become. "No, honey. We should think about getting you home. You're trashed."

Taemin stands there, pulling his lower lip between his teeth like he can't believe it. He makes another sally forward, reaching for Taeha, and Taeha pulls back, holds him firmly an arm's length away. The full mouth twists sharply, his eyes growing damp again. Twice in one night, Taeha understands, but it's better like this, even if Taemin doesn't understand right now.

"I'm not drunk," he says, petulantly enough to belie his statement. When Taeha doesn't say anything, the lower lip comes further out. "I thought you understood."

"I do. That's why we're stopping now. How are you getting home?"

"Fine," Taemin says. Even in the darkness it's clear his cheeks are filling with colour. He shoulders right past Taeha and pauses there, just a second, while Taeha licks the taste of rum from his own lips. He knows Taemin wants to say something devasting and witty, to let him know what he's missing, but all he manages is a strangled, "fuck you."

Taeha doesn't turn to watch him leave. He takes his cigarettes from his pocket and smokes one with his forehead resting against the cool brick where Taemin's shoulders had been pressed. His skin is still tingling, and he's not sure he doesn't regret what he's just done.

Then he thinks of himself, aged seventeen, in the back of a taxi with his shirt half-ripped off his shoulder, and how that guy, as nice as he'd been, had never called him back, just as he knows he'd never have called Taemin back. He's done the right thing.

Maybe it's not too late to find someone else, anyway, although on balance Taeha thinks he'd rather just see if any of his friends are out and go get drunk with them. He crushes his cigarette underfoot and heads back inside, the heat and noise crushing him in its grip. As he fights his way to the exit he chances a look over at the bar, just for one last glimpse of the pretty bartender with the snubbed nose.

Instead he sees a headful of long hair which he pushed his fingers through not ten minutes ago. Taemin has his head back in his hands, and there's two guys, standing on either side of him, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. Taeha suddenly thinks he might shit himself. One of them, with his blonde hair slicked into a quiff and an outfit far too dressy for the sticky-floored club with its hordes of screaming twenty-somethings, is Kim Jonghyun. The other, the one whose shirt front Taemin is now burying his face into, is Key Kibum.

Taeha very carefully melts back into the crowd and takes a different route to the exit, one which puts at least thirty people between himself and the group at the bar. When he gets out, he takes a fast-paced walk onto a different street before he gets out his phone. Just before he dials Hoseok's number, he looks up at the night sky and says a silent prayer of thanks to his moral conscience. Being an ethical slut will always be worth it if it means he escapes losing his balls for messing around with Jonghyun and Kibum's darling.


	47. The Little Scrounger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: Taeil adopts a stray kitten outside the restaurant, and is caught talking to it.

The back door of the Speed Bar and Grill leads into a tiny brick-walled alleyway, with two other doors off it which belong to the neighbouring businesses. At the other end of the alley is a steel grill, padlocked shut, which opens with a reluctant screech every morning at 6am for the binmen. All the plastic bags of soggy cardboard, gutted fruit, scraps of beef fat, vegetable off-cuts, eggshells, broken bottles, fruit peel, and bills with customers’ phone numbers scrawled on them pour out into the truck, and all that’s left in the alley are six large colour-coded wheelie bins, and the thin, filthy stink of rubbish.

It’s not a choice relaxation spot, but at 6.05am it’s where Taeil likes to be, for a quiet ten minutes before he gets on with firing up the kitchen. Behind the door, Seokjin’s fumbling his half-asleep way around, switching on stoves and taking out yesterday’s pre-prep. Probably eating his post-breakfast cereal bar, like Taeil’s told him not to fifty times. Taeil tries not to think about that, or anything else related to work, when he’s outside though. Sometimes one of the chefs from the barbecue place next door will come out as well. He and Taeil sort of nod at each other and then squint up into the bright morning sky, slowly coming to terms with another day.

It’s tiny, and it stinks of bins, but it’s isolated, and sometimes that’s all you need.

Today, it’s just him in the alley. It rained a bit earlier in the morning; now the lacy shreds of grey clouds are just fading away into the skyline, leaving a wet sort of blue sky, and the whitewashed brick walls have streams of brackish water straggling down them. With his hands in his jacket pockets, Taeil rocks a bit on his heels and takes as deep a breath as he comfortably can while standing in the rubbish area. The paving stones out here need a good scrub, he notes, and there’s a stray bit of bin bag or something left in one of the drains.

He stretches out a toe to prod at it, and the bit of bin bag uncurls itself and looks up at him with big amber eyes. It's scrawny, and what he'd taken for wrinkled black plastic proves to be sodden, spiky fur, and it opens a tiny pink mouth to make an exhausted but impressively hostile yowl at him.

"Oh," he says, out loud in his surprise. The kitten hisses and skitters backwards, hunching against the doorstep opposite to glare at him. It can't be much older than five or six months - from what Taeil can tell, when he reaches his hand out to it and gets his fingers nipped at, it hasn't quite got all its adult teeth. It's admirably unaware, however, of how tiny it is, and seems more than ready to take him on in a fight.

He lays out a saucer of water and a bit of tuna while it watches him from behind one of the bins. When he puts out the rubbish that evening, the kitten has gone, but so has the food.

The next morning it sniffs around the toes of his boots and mews suspiciously. He doesn't make any sharp movements, just watches its stringy form slither around at his feet. It doesn't have a collar, and it shows the natural mistrust of humans he'd expect from a true stray. It might just be a very smart cat, though; it's already there, lurking behind the bins, when he takes out that day's meal. He tells himself he'll take it to a vet and get it checked for a microchip. Somehow he keeps putting off actually doing so.

One week on, and Taeil’s started to take his morning breathers sitting down on the doorstep, so that the kitten (who he alternately calls ‘hobo’, ‘little scrounger’ and ‘guttersnipe’) can hop up on his lap and enjoy his breakfast straight from Taeil’s hand. If he ever had doubts about taking refuge in the bin alley, this proves he has more sense than every other member of staff in the building, none of whom have made friends with any stray cats.

He's always wanted a cat - or a dog, preferably, but he knows that's never going to be an option in a studio flat. While his fish, turtles, lizards and the occasional snake are all good fun, and obligingly silent, it's not quite the same. They're all beautiful creatures which he could happily watch for hours, but they'd never do anything different, really. This scrawny little thing can't be much more than a kitten, and the more comfortable it grows with Taeil, the more character it starts to show, until his morning chill outs start to leave him a little breathless, watching it scurry around chasing stray bits of cardboard and pouncing on shadows.

One day it's not there when he steps outside. It comes trotting around the corner as he sits down, with a big black beetle struggling between its teeth. It drops the beetle at Taeil's feet and perks its head up. Something in its big eyes and the way it's waiting for Taeil's approval reminds him of another skinny kid he knows, another weird fluffy creature he has far too much of a soft spot for.

He fondles the kitten's head gently. "Well done hobo. I should call you Jihoon, shouldn't I?"

The kitten headbutts his hand and purrs in agreement. Then it hops up onto his lap and eats its breakfast, nibbling the ends of Taeil's fingers with every bite. His ten minutes outside ends up being more like twenty, and the first tickets for breakfast start coming through before everything's completely ready. Jimin, creeping up to the service hatch for the plates which aren't ready yet, tenses his shoulders in anticipation of verbal assault.

"Minhyuk," he says, in the lowest tone he can muster, "I don't wanna be a pain but are the soups for twenty six - "

Taeil elbows Minhyuk aside, drops the soup bowls on the pass and nods to Jimin. "Morning," he says, and sees Jimin's eyes blink wider. "Stop gawking and run the food," he adds, and Jimin does so, not without a semi-terrified backwards glance.

Taeil's aware of Minhyuk looking him slowly up and down, arching one well shaped brow and straightening out his lips until his dimple shows, in that smug knowing expression him and Taeha have perfected for the sole purpose of pissing Taeil off. Today, Taeil just rolls his eyes at it and shoves Minhyuk in the direction of the stove.

"Who fondled your dick this morning?"

"Your mother," Taeil says, and turns away to check on the eggs, and to hide the tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

It won't do, he tells himself. This stupid kitten is going to ruin his reputation if he's not careful. Many of the staff have suspected that Taeil isn't the terror he appears to be, although few have ever got close to the truth and those who have can usually be intimidated into keeping it. He likes it that way. His parents are in the restaurant business, and he's been around chefs his whole life. The facade of fury is essential; without it, god knows what kind of havoc the servers would wreak on his kitchen. Although Sejoon's not so foul mouthed about it, Taeil's sure he would agree when it comes to the bar. You have to be a hardass if you want things to run efficiently. Especially if what you're responsible for involves hot flames, sharp knives and chilli powder.

And apart from that - and the fact that, when the air is near boiling and the tickets are piling up and you've burnt yourself on a pan for the sixth time that day, tempers do run high - it's become a sort of running joke which Taeil takes as much pleasure in as anyone else. His theatrical rage is as entertaining as Taewoon's brash vulgarity, or Yuhwan's happy camper optimism.

He can't risk being outed as something of a softie because of one ragged little stray. It almost happened with Jihoon, until he was (mercifully, Taeil still pretends) moved to front of house. The next time he sees it, he tells himself, he'll take the kitten to the local shelter so it can be properly looked after, and go back to his brief, solitary mornings.

Instead, he has a couple of days off and finds himself stopping at the JJCC Pet Emporium on his way to work for a bag of kitty treats, because two days is a long time for a kitten.

It's there when he steps outside, absorbed in fighting an empty plastic spice packet. When it hears the door, it pounces one last time on its opponent and scampers over to attack Taeil's shoelaces, with a yowl which sounds distinctly more aggrieved that usual. Taeil sits down, setting his espresso on the step beside him, and puts out his palm with a treat sitting in the centre.

"Miss me?" The kitten chews on two of his fingers before going for the treat, which it tries to swallow in one go and promptly hawks back up. Dumb as a rock, Taeil thinks. Jihoon always attacks his staff meal in the same way, trying to shove it straight into his mouth without thinking about how hot it's going to be. "You're very cute, but very stupid," Taeil tells the kitten, and it agrees with a series of happy, high-pitched yips in between gnawing at its treat.

The day is clear and fine, with a light breeze which somehow smells fresh despite the old bin smells wafting around. Once again, Taeil stays out in the yard longer than he should; it's hard to move with the kitten draped across his lap and the sun warming his face. When he finally glances at his watch, he can't even bring himself to be annoyed.

"Alright," he says, and scoops the kitten up with one hand. It digs its claws into his jeans and whines. "Come on Jihoonie, stop whining. Time to go." He gives the dumb little thing one final pet, and gets to his feet. "I'll bring you something nice for lunch, okay?" It still takes him another few seconds to drag himself to the back door. After a last insulted mewl, the kitten trots off to a crack in the opposite wall and hunches down to wait for a mouse to appear. Taeil sighs, shuts the door behind him and readies himself to face another morning.

Taeha's hunched over the soup pot, hiding his face in the steam. His hair is loose, as usual, and Taeil sticks an elbow in his ribs as he passes. "Hey. Put your fuckin' hat on, how many times do I have to say it?"

Instead of the usual answering groan, Taeha lets out something which sounds suspiciously like a snigger. Taeil stops with his hand halfway towards the spice rack.

"Something funny?"

"Nothing," Taeha says. Even without looking, Taeil knows he's making the same asshole smug face that him and Minhyuk practise together. "Bins smelling especially sweet this week, huh?"

"Trying to avoid your ugly face for as long as possible."

"Right." Taeil makes it as far as the door to the stock room before he catches another snigger, and a distinctly saccharine-pitched, "Jihoonie." An intense forty seconds later, Taeha's sulking his way to the staffroom to put his fucking hat on, although he doesn't look nearly as repentent as Taeil would like, and he offers a parting shot when he's safely out of arm's reach: "Of all the people you could pick for an imaginary friend."

Taeil lets him go without answering. He could explain himself, of course, and introduce Taeha to the kitten - but it's his outside sanctuary, even if it does stink of bins, and it's his kitten, even if it is scrawny and kind of stupid. And anyway, he has a reputation to uphold. He snatches secret minutes here and there during his shift to look up good noise insulation for studio apartments, and when he leaves that night he has a takeaway box full of leftovers in one hand, and a delighted kitten who he is definitely not going to call Jihoon in the other.


	48. Can't Always Get What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaehyo's not having a good day.

Jaehyo's not having a good week.

First off, his sort-of-casual girlfriend Naeun has disappeared for five days, for a school reunion on the other side of the country. She didn't mention whether her six foot three, football playing ex-boyfriend would be there but the five inch heels she packed makes Jaehyo think he definitely will be.

And, whatever, they're cool and not exclusive or anything, as he likes to tell anyone who'll listen. They're not like Jiho and Kyung, always bickering and throwing tantrums when one of them so much as looks at anyone else. They're a chic, grown up sort of couple who hang out listening to music and drinking wine together, and visit swish bars, and check out arthouse cinema and grass roots fashion shows. Naeun has always been very clear that she's not ready to commit yet, and that's fine with Jaehyo. It's just sort of boring and lonely without her, and the feeling isn't helped by knowing that she's off drinking and socialising with people she's known a lot longer than him, some of whom are six foot three football players who used to have the privilege of kissing Naeun regularly, while he has to work late nights without that privilege.

It's, whatever, it's fine. Whatever happens with him, she won't tell Jaehyo, and he won't ask. It's just uncomfortable, to carry that thought around. It's like an itchy tag in a shirt that you can't cut off because you'll leave a hole in the collar.

The shirt is one of the other things making his week less than great. He'd suffered with the itchy tag through a whole night out drinking with Joon and Myungsoo, and it was almost worth it for the looks it was getting him (looks which went some way to drown out thoughts of Naeun wearing someone else's football sweater) until Myungsoo insisted they needed a round of slippery nipples, then tripped on his way back from the bar and tipped them all over Jaehyo's (expensive, brand new, itchy-tag containing) silk shirt.

MONX is usually pretty lax about returns, but he knew even without asking that they wouldn't take it after that. Myungsoo apologised a lot and bought another three rounds of shots, which Jaehyo knocked back thinking about the £55.95 he'd tipped down the drain. He was still wearing the stinking, clammy, itchy shirt when he woke up the next morning: face in the pillow; phone smugly silent after he'd forgotten to set an alarm; already ten minutes late for work.

No one had called to see where he was, probably because it's unheard of for Jaehyo to be late for work. Unlike many other staff members, he doesn't feel the need to get rat-arsed on a week night to drown his sorrows. Not normally, anyway. He finds himself cursing the anonymous and massive football player as he slings his shivering body under a cold shower. He's sure if it weren't for that bastard, he'd be safely behind the host stand right that minute, texting Naeun to tell her to have a good time.

It makes his morning a little more bleak when he realises that she hasn't texted him either.

Yuhwan's doing cover duty as host when he gets there - unnecessarily, since there's only three tables full, but if Jaehyo knows Yuhwan, he's there less to make sure people get seated fairly, and more to greet Jaehyo when he finally shows up. Yuhwan's eyebrows creep a little closer to his hairline as he takes in Jaehyo's wet-haired, scarf-trailing figure. That's the biggest gesture of disapproval Yuhwan will allow himself - before he knows the full story, anyway.

Jaehyo doesn't give him time to put on his concerned voice. He doesn't think he could stand to hear it just then; it would only rub in what a colossal idiot he's been. "My fault," he says, and straightens himself up heroically, trying to ignore the angry fizzing at the base of his skull. How Taewoon and Jungwoo do this on a regular basis, he has no idea. "I was out late last night, totally my bad. Thanks for holding the fort."

"We've all done it," Yuhwan offers, tactful enough not to prod past Jaehyo's heroic posture. He steps out from behind the stand and waves Jaehyo along. "Anything you want to talk about?"

It's not often that Jaehyo's pleased to see five middle-aged women with 'can I speak to the manager' haircuts pile in through the entrance. "Maybe later. Gotta crack on, right?" He gives a sort of sports anime-style clenched fist gesture, attempting to mimic Yuhwan's cheery 'let's do this' tone. Yuhwan smiles, in a way that's clearly restraining a lot of sympathy.

"Right. Coffee?"

Jaehyo just has time to nod before the five women are at the host stand, one of them drumming her fingers for attention. He sets his shoulders back and re-adjusts the flow of his scarf, arranging his most ingratiating smile across his face and hoping that the lack of a clean shave gives him a roguish charm, rather than just making him look grubby.

"Good evening ladies, welcome to the Speed Bar and Grill - "

"Booth for five," the first woman says, without making eye contact. Jaehyo's teeth clench in the centre of his smile. Clearly this evening is not going to break his streak of shitty days.

The night picks up quickly. The second half of Jaehyo's skinny cappucino ends up going cold while he fields the steady stream of customers to table, to reservation, to the bar to get a drink while they wait. The business is reaching another plateau, he can tell. It's not something he thinks about often - only when he's already tired, hungover and in a bad mood, and one too many people have snapped at him about when their table will be ready. Back in the day, when the restaurant was newly opened and they were all still cutting their teeth in their new jobs, he could field the entire evening's worth of guests without any kind of assistance. He worked four nights a week; from Sunday to Tuesday, it just wasn't busy enough for him to be there.

Then, he pressed Yuhwan to get him a tablet, so that he could keep track of the waiting list. Then they hired Namjoon, to cover Mondays and Tuesdays and work alongside Jaehyo on their busiest nights. They experimented with a buzzer system, so if someone was too lost in the crowd they could still be told to come and get their table, but too many people shoved the buzzer in their pocket and forgot about it. Eventually, between the two of them and the managers, they'd got a system down which worked for them.

Now, even that system is stretched too thin. There's just too many people, too many bookings. It's a Wednesday night, eight p.m. and the queue is stretching out of the door. A reservation of six is twenty minutes late, but Jaehyo recognises the name; it's one of their major alcohol suppliers, a regular of the restaurant and not someone they want to upset. The wait staff are desperately trying to turn tables, and Jaehyo can tell from the smell of constantly roasting coffee how much success they're having.

"We're operating on about forty minutes wait time at the moment," he says to the next group. Four of them, two couples. The women both wear kitten heels and modestly cut cocktail dresses; the men have heavy overcoats on which are obviously designed to make them look impressive and wealthy, although Jaehyo can tell from the cut that they're off the peg. All four have the same unimpressed expression, like they'd practised it in the mirror together before coming out. "If you'd like to go to the bar and get yourselves a drink, we'll come and let you know as soon as we have a table ready for you."

"Forty minutes," one of the men says, lowering his unimpressed eyebrows even further. "That's a long time."

"We're in a hurry," the woman hanging onto his arm says. "We're going to see a show."

Jaehyo's heard this so many times that the temptation to ask why they didn't a) book ahead, b) factor in the time it would take to go to a popular restaurant, get a table and eat, or c) go and get a SuJu's burger if they want something quickly, has almost completely evaporated. Instead, he repeats to himself Yuhwan's favourite mantra about difficult customers - 'kill them with kindness' - and turns his smile up a couple of notches.

"I understand it's a bit of a wait, but unfortunately our tables are all taken right now. If you'd like to - "

"What about that table?" The first man - the one wearing the particularly poorly cut coat, with a purple lining that Jaehyo can see even at a distance isn't real silk - points over Jaehyo's shoulder. He turns. Behind him, in what he thinks is Jimin's section, is a table with two younger women, only the dregs of their coffee left in front of them. They're pulling their coats over their shoulders, the bill on a silver tip tray between them.

Jaehyo's seen this maneouvre before. He steps to one side, blocking the two women from the view of the others. "That table is currently taken, I'm afraid. If you would like to join the wait list - "

"They were just leaving. We'll take that table when they go."

"That's a table for two, and there are four of you - "

"We'll squeeze in."

"Sir," and Jaehyo briefly glances down at the tablet in front of him, both to check on the wait list and to give himself a chance to briefly grind his back teeth together. "There's a wait for tables, which means there are people in the queue ahead of you. I can't let you jump to the top, especially for a table which wouldn't seat all of you. It wouldn't be fair to the other guests who have been waiting, or to the two members of your party who would have to stand for their meal."

That last line - although perfectly true - comes out more than a bit snippy. It's ironic, Jaehyo thinks, watching the women purse their lips in disapproval and the men puff out their chests with offense, how the rudest people are the most sensitive to anyone being rude to them.

"You are being difficult deliberately," the man says, aiming a threatening sausage-shaped forefinger at Jaehyo's chest. "We need to get a table, now, and there is no reason you shouldn't be able to do that for us."

Jaehyo just gives up. He's already explained all the reasons why these people can't get a table. He's had a long, repetitive week already: repetitive intrusive thoughts of Naeun's lovely body held in a pair of hulking football-catching arms; repetitive scratching at the back of his neck; repetitive apologies from Myungsoo (he'd even texted the next day, offering to cover the cost of the shirt, and Jaehyo appreciates that but he'd appreciate more if Myungsoo hadn't got him so drunk) and repetitive, boring, nervous-twitch inducing explanations to entitled customers of why they can't have the exact table they want at the exact time they want it.

None of us can have what we want, is what he'd like to say. You want to sit and eat right now. I want my sort of casual girlfriend to text me. I want to get back the sodding £55.95 I spent on a ruined shirt with an itchy tag. I want to be at home right now, nursing this hangover and eating takeaway in my pants, playing League of Legends, not standing here with damp armpits, looking mournfully at my half-drunk cappucino, arguing with a bunch of self-important dullards who can't think beyond their own stomachs. Life is short, and difficult, and even the most beautiful among us do not get half of what we wish for.

Instead he says, "I can't seat you right now, sir. I can add you to the waitlist, or - "

"I want to speak to a manager."

Great. Not content with ruining their own night, and Jaehyo's, they're going to fuck Yuhwan's up a bit as well. "Of course," Jaehyo says, and motions for them to stand off to one side while he radios for Yuhwan. They refuse to move, of course, and a few groups back Jaehyo can see people start to throw their hands up in frustration. One couple slips out of the queue and heads back to the doors. He'd shake their hands, if he could, for saving him the trouble.

Yuhwan pitches up at the host stand with his cheeks a little stained pink, like they always are on a busy night, but otherwise looking as affable and professional a man as you could ever hope to meet. The man with the fake-silk coat lining still eyes him up and down like he's something on the sole of his shoe.

Really, Jaehyo thinks, how insecure about your inability to afford real silk lining in your coat can one person be?

"What seems to be the problem?" Yuhwan says, spreading one hand lightly towards the group, while the other touches Jaehyo's upper arm, lightly, in a secret show of solidarity. Jaehyo suddenly feels a lot better. On the surface, Yuhwan's tone is entirely placatory, and even Mr. Faux Silk puts his shoulders down a milimetre, some of the wrinkles easing out of his enraged forehead.

Underneath the conciliating slickness, Jaehyo can hear what the staff like to call Yuhwan's 'End Game Voice'.

The man starts explaining - loudly, and at great length - what he perceives to be the problem, touching on their lack of preparation for busy evenings, the 'obscene' waiting time, the fact that they were being denied a 'very obviously empty table' (when Jaehyo checks over his shoulder, the two girls are only just getting out of their seats, still sharing a parting joke with Jimin) and how Jaehyo had been 'snide, sarcastic, and extremely rude' to them. "He just doesn't want to give us a table," he finishes. His face is now almost the same purple as his faux-silk coat lining.

Yuhwan nods, his head quirked to one side in that bird-like way he has, and the most unassuming smile curling his lips. "I see," he says, and looks to Jaehyo, gives him the tiniest of nods. "Well, I think I agree. I don't want to give you a table either."

So sure of his victory, the man harrumphs triumphantly before he realises what Yuhwan actually said. Then he actually does turn purple, like Yuhwan had politely reached over and pulled on the long part of his tie until it strangled him.

"I don't know what gives you the right - "

"I'm the manager here. That's what gives me the right." Jaehyo wants to high five Yuhwan so much for cutting his sentence off like that. The conciliatory tone is gone, and although no one could ever call it impolite, there's a fine edge of steel cutting through Yuhwan's voice. "You've tried to jump the waiting list, refused to let my host do his job, and insulted him as well. We have no obligation to serve you, and I don't wish to. I'd like you to leave the premises."

The second man, up until now silent, begins to splutter in outrage too, as if a double helping of spluttering will change Yuhwan's mind, but of course it doesn't. He stands there, one hand on the host stand and the other casually indicating the way to the door, until the group begins to shuffle away, under a grumbling grey cloud of, "how dare they," and, "well I never."

The next group to step up look suitably shocked at the scene they've just witnessed. This is where Yuhwan's skill really comes into its own. Just before the offended foursome step out of earshot, he turns to the young couple with a smile, a genuine smile this time.

"Apologies for the delay. I don't like any of our guests to witness that sort of scene. May I offer you a drink on the house while you wait for your table?"

As soon as the door shuts behind a horrified Mr. Faux Silk Purple Face and his three horrible friends, Yuhwan gives Jaehyo a discreet fist bump under cover of the host stand and scoots off to attend to table forty three, where someone's complaining about a bad bottle of wine. Jaehyo lets himelf breathe a tiny sigh of relief, and turns back to his tablet and the queue with renewed energy. It's vindictive, but it's put a little light back in his evening straight away.

What puts a lot more light in his evening is the pictures Naeun texts him a few hours later, of herself, her mouth dark with wine, definitely not wearing anyone's football sweater.

 


End file.
